Silent Discourse
by Lorca the Great
Summary: The savage and beautiful ring of steel kissing steel echoed off of the tall gray walls, raised from the hill by generations of Assassins past. It was a sound that they knew well, though not as well as those words that the inhabitants lived by. Nothing is true. Everything is permitted. This is how Malik gets roped into being much more than rivals with an egotistical assassin. AltMal
1. Blood in Brotherhood

**Chapter 1: Blood in Brotherhood**

* * *

The savage and beautiful ring of steel kissing steel echoed off of the tall gray walls, raised from the hill by generations of Assassins past. It was a sound that they knew well, though not as well as those words that the inhabitants lived by. _Nothing is true. Everything is permitted. _Those words that were uttered as a mantra, to remind those in the Brotherhood of the fragility of humanity and to live by the consequences of one's own actions.

A man by years but still a boy in attitude played a jeering smirk across his lips, adorned by a still healing scar. Opposite was another man, more wise and disciplined than his superior. In stark contrast to his sparring partner, his own face was contorted into a snarl of frustration. Just one blow, he told himself. Just one hit. Altaїr Ibn-La'Ahad was besting him on every turn, countering each of his thrusts and slashes. They were each completely silent in this, the ringing of their long swords clashing the only noise that they created. All around them, their fellow brothers urged them on, standing around and leaning on the wooden fence surrounding the sparring ring.

Malik Al-Sayf ignored the din of voices, though he could pick out his brother, Kadar's voice as one of the loudest. He stepped and swung, and was not at all surprised to have his wrist caught. He had not anticipated in that moment that his foe would twist his arm. This caught him off balance and with a swift kick from Altaїr, his legs went from beneath him and he was once again in the dust. There was a brief rise in the volume of the combined voice of his brothers, and it grew louder still as he rose back to his feet, brushing off the fresh bruise he knew he had.

It went on for what felt like an hour, though it was probably only half of that. Malik was staggering and Altaїr was still standing strong. He had not managed to land one blow on the elder assassin, while he knew his own appearance was ragged and dusty from falling to the ground. Sweat dripped from both of their brows, both from their exertion and from the heat of the midday sun.

A voice rose above the crowd. "Malik, yield or you will be useless to the Brotherhood for days!" That was his younger brother. "Why must you keep this up?" Why? Malik made no sign that he had heard his brother, his attention only for the cocky bastard with the sword swaying tauntingly before him. Because this man was his rival. Always had been. They were equally matched in all other studies of physical strength and agility, but Altaїr had always been his superior in sword fighting.

Altaїr gave him a challenging look and Malik lunged forward once more, his rage getting the best of his blade. He was knocked to the ground once again, a fist in his gut forcing the air from his lungs. He struggled to his feet, clutching his abdomen. Each blow had left him aching and threatening to buckle and each time it was harder and harder to stand.

Not yet. He would not yield just yet. There was one more move that he could pull.

He lunged forward, then feigned to the side, successfully catching Altaїr off his guard. He swung his sword around, catching the other assassin's ankle with his foot and brought him down to his knees, resting the flat of his blade on the back of Altaїr's drawn hood.

"Yield," Malik growled.

He could hear the cocky smirk in the other man's voice, the hood obscuring his features. "Been practicing that move, Malik?"

The assassin moved like liquid silk, his robes blurring in Malik's vision. He felt another fist in his gut, and then an elbow cracked down on his back. His vision went dark and when he came to, his cheek was pressed to the ground and a boot pressed to the small of his back. He tasted blood and a sharp pain in his mouth told him that he must have bit his tongue when he fell.

"You cheated," Malik cringed, a sharp pain in his side telling him that a rib had been bruised. He tried to push himself up, but the foot on his back pressed him back down.

"You had not defeated me." His chilly cockiness did not go unnoticed.

"That's enough, Altaїr. Let him up." The sword master called from outside the ring. Altaїr scoffed and stepped away, vaulting easily over the railing and disappearing into the crowd.

Kadar was instantly at Malik's shoulder, pulling him out of the dust. "Why do you let him do this to you, brother? It always ends the same." Admiration for the winner of the bout was plain in the younger brother's voice.

Malik brushed off the question and held his palm to his bruised rib. "Just get me to the healer." He hated this, being aided by others. He especially hated when his own younger brother was the one to do it. Ever since their father had passed away, he had taken it upon himself to look after Kadar. He ensured to keep him away from dangerous missions, making excuses and pulling strings to keep him at a low rank.

The brothers ducked into the fortress's lower level, seeking out the infirmary. Malik was eased onto a bench as he awaited the healer's attention. Kadar left his older brother, returning to his own studies. Malik continued to stew in his own thoughts, repeating the whole sparring match piece by piece in his mind. Altaїr just seemed to know exactly what move he was about to take. It was humiliating, to be beaten down every time even if he spent countless hours sneaking out of the house at night to practice.

"Al-Sayf, the elder brother," the healer said with a familiar air. "What trouble have you gotten into this time?"

"Not trouble, Mo'alej,"* Malik answered, reeling in his anger. "I just do not know when to yield, or I refuse to when I know I must."

The healer motioned for him to remove his robe and Malik gingerly complied. The healer spoke as he gently prodded the new bruising on Malik's sides. "Is this the work of Altaїr again?" Malik did not grace that question with an answer. "He is very precise in where he lands his blows. Always to cripple with temporary pain and shock, but never striking a vital point. You should be thankful for his expertise."

Malik scoffed, but remained silent. Be thankful for that selfish, arrogant perfectionist? He would rather dishonor the Creed than be grateful to that man, and he had been loyal to the Creed ever since he had been born into it some twenty two years ago. Unfortunately, so had his rival, born to a close comrade of his father. But Altaїr always had a loose interpretation of the Creed and only obeyed when it suited him best. It had been years since Malik had been sent on a mission with him, but the stories that he heard from others just reinforced this understanding.

"Your bruised rib will need time to heal," the healer brought Malik out of his thoughts. "Keep a tight bandage on it just in case it has been cracked. Other than that, I only see superficial bruising. Rest easy for a few days and-"

"-And stop getting into sparring matches with Altaїr, I know," Malik finished sharply. The healer only sighed and began wrapping a bandage around his torso. He knew that Malik would not comply with that little piece of advice, even if he followed the other care to the letter. He stood slowly, muscles complaining loudly, as the healer finished his work. Malik drew his robes on delicately, securing his belt that denoted him as an Assassin in the ninth rank of the Brotherhood. It was yet another bitter reminder that Altaїr was always one step ahead of him, having already been granted a place in the tenth rank, making him a full Assassin.

Malik took his time walking down the road into the town from the fortress, not taking his usual cliff leaping route. It would be a number of days until he was well enough to perform at that level. He soon found himself at the door to his family home, not surprised when he found it destitute of his younger brother. Kadar often stayed out until sunset training with his fellow third rank Assistants. He was always eager to learn, but was far too keen on the methods that Altaїr used. Malik was constantly trying to teach him stealth tactics and discretion, but his younger brother was too enthralled with the prospect of the chase.

Malik shook his head as he closed the door behind him, finally able to show how pained he was at his injuries in the privacy of his home. He hissed in a breath and pressed a palm to his side, limping to the chessboard set up in the corner of the room. He sat himself gently onto the cushions there and continued the game he had started with himself the night before.

It was not until after sunset that his brother slipped into the room, a sac of vegetables in his hand.

"I thought I would prepare dinner tonight," Kadar said, his cheerfulness a mask for his concern towards his brother. Malik knew his little brother well but did not call him out on his bluff.

"Thank you, Kadar. I do not think I could stand, let alone chop and stir in my condition." Malik fell under the scrutinizing gaze once more, but he ignored it in favor of replacing the game pieces to begin again. Kadar continued on into the kitchen and began building a fire under the stove. "Just do not cook the carrots too much this time."

There was a while of silence between them as Kadar prepared their meal. It continued until a bowl of curry was wafted under Malik's nose. He took it gratefully as his brother sat on the cushions beside him.

The silence burned on until Kadar quenched it. "Why do you always go up against Altaїr? You are good enough with a blade to win against anyone else in his rank."

"I would not expect you to understand, brother," Malik sighed. "He has always been my opposite. I am subtle while he is loud. I do not agree with his methods, as you know, and I feel the need to put him into his place. His arrogance makes that quite hard to do so."

"What do you have to prove, Malik? You have gone up in rank twice just in the past year."

That may have been true, but he still was one rank below the man and they were born in the same year. "Just because his father was a Master-"

"Our father was a Master as well, Malik," Kadar interjected softly. "You should remember that; you knew him longer than I."

Malik could not meet his brother's gaze. "I do remember our father, Kadar, but he still died when I was still newly a Novice. Altaїr was under his father's teachings far longer."

Silence reigned once more between the brothers as they ate. Talking of death was not uncommon among the Assassins, but they were not untouched by its cold reality and harsh repercussions.

When Kadar spoke again, it was in a lighter tone, trying to lift his brother's gray mood. "Perhaps you could challenge Altaїr to a trial of agility. We can put out the flags and see who can collect them fastest."

That prospect pulled a tentative smile to Malik's cheeks. Just the suggestion made the situation all the more outrageous. "I should resort to a Novice's training exercise to show my expertise to a man who bested me at swordplay?" His tone was dry and not without irony.

This struck Kadar and he reeled back. "No, no! I only meant-"

"I know what you meant, Kadar. You mean to play on my strengths. This is beyond childish winning and losing. I mean to prove a point to Altaїr, that his arrogance and manner of carrying out business are flawed and harmful to the Brotherhood." The bitterness set in once more, as it had been thawed by the warm meal. "You must not see him as a role model, Kadar. His methods are dangerous."

The younger's expression became stony. Malik knew it was a lot to ask, for his brother to stop looking up to that man. It still had to be done. Kadar was Malik's only remaining family and he would protect him from the poisonous ways of Altaїr.

* * *

**End Notes:**

*Mo'alej - "healer" in arabic, as far as google told me.

Oh hey, so I thought I would try my hand at some altmal since I recently succumbed to it. I don't expect it to be very long, but you never know when it comes to my writing. Expect some smut later on, but I won't give it away in case it is a surprise! So this is your fair warning that there will be me what you think so far! Sassy characters are my favorite to write, so I'm super excited to continue.


	2. Assignment in Acrimony

Chapter 2: Assignment in Acrimony

* * *

The next morning proved to be torturous for Malik's abused body from the day before. He awoke on his hay stuffed mattress, his ribs aching and muscles stiff. He threw open the curtain to the only window in his small room and saw the deep blue sky of a new dawn approaching. He slowly stretched his muscles, being careful of his bruised rib. There was still some time before the market would open to retrieve some breakfast, so Malik took his time in preparing for the day ahead. He re-wrapped his torso in tight bandages, just as the healer described, before slipping into a cleaner set of robes. He would have to do washing soon, he knew, but the prospect of kneeling and scrubbing with his body as battered as it was left him dreading the chore. Perhaps he could convince one of the novices to wash it for him.

After a wash and a shave, Malik pushed forward and faced the day. First stop was the marketplace, where he bought some fruit and flatbread for his breakfast. Mourning his lack of mobility that morning, he would sorely miss eating his meal in his usual spot atop a roof in the town, overlooking the bustling life below. As it was, he dined instead just inside the gates of the Masyaf fortress, observing the early morning comings and goings. It was always busier in the morning and the evenings, as the midday sun tended to drive most people indoors. There were young novices, eyes still drooping with sleep, carrying on their morning duties around the fortress. Even more mid-rank assassins, those who lived within the fortress, were heading to town to market just as Malik had done.

He was just finishing his meal when he saw an unmistakable white hooded man stalk past the open gates and continue up the hill to the library. Malik scoffed. Altaїr always seemed to be called for more missions than the average man in his rank. Perhaps it was favoritism on Al Mualim's part. Subconscious or not, Malik thought, the man deserved no more praise than any other man and he perhaps needed less of it. No doubt he needed less.

Malik pulled his hood over his head and was content to stew in his own thoughts until a tentative voice broke through his irritable reverie.

"Mister Al-Sayf?" he looked up to find a novice not over the age of ten standing before him. Taking this as an acknowledgement, the youth continued. "The Mentor has summoned you."

"Very well," Malik sighed as he pressed himself away from the wall, catching his breath as the motion sent a sharp pain through his torso. Ignoring the concerned novice, he made his way up the path that Altaїr had taken not minutes before. A sense of dread fell over Malik. Perhaps his string of luck in getting tolerable mission partners had finally run out.

As he reached the top of the stairs of the library and approached the Mentor's study, all of his suspicions were revealed to be true. Altaїr stood before Al Mualim, a statue before the pacing old man.

"Mentor," Malik greeted, bowing his head to his superior. He swore he saw Altaїr twitch at the sound of his voice, but otherwise made no movement to acknowledge his presence.

"Malik, I am glad to see you up and well. I have been informed that you were injured in a sparring match yesterday." Al Mualim appeared to mean no harm by his statement, but it still cut deep. Did the entire city know of his defeat?

"Nothing I have not handled before, Mentor," Malik replied evenly. He ignored the quiet humored scoff from Altaїr. "I am able to perform whatever duties you assign." It was a lie, he knew, but damn it Malik was not about to let on how damaged he was from the fight while his rival could hear.

Al Mualim nodded and continued pacing. "I have heard that there are four Templar captains in Damascus who are spreading lies and rumors about the Brotherhood. You two are to travel there and silence them permanently. You will report to the Rafiq and conduct your own investigations. Take time to gather your supplies; you will be leaving tomorrow morning."

"It will be done," Altaїr replied dismissively, all business in the moment. Perhaps he did take his assignments seriously after all. He turned, exiting the study silently and efficiently.

Malik bowed his head once again. "Thank you, Mentor." As Malik turned to leave, the man spoke up again.

"Malik, I wish to get a report on what exactly the information is that Templars are spreading about us. If you can, listen in on their whispers before you silence them."

"I will see to it that I gain as much information as possible." Malik turned, but paused, a burning question needing to be asked. "Mentor, if I may ask…"

"Go on."

"Why have you sent me on this mission with Altaїr? Certainly there is someone in his own rank who you could have sent in my stead."

A smile crossed the old man's bearded face. "I know well of your rivalry, Malik. I also know of Altaїr's tendency towards non-discrepancy. It is my intention to have you teach him your own ways and to keep him in check. He is well on his way to being one of the most skillful men we have in the Brotherhood, but he lacks discipline."

"I would not disagree," Malik confided. Finally, he thought, even the Mentor knows of the faults of this mighty arrogant man.

"Go then. Rest and prepare for your journey." Malik bent his head once more and descended the stairs, heading into the courtyard where swordplay lessons had already begun in the sparring ring.

That infuriatingly proud hooded figure leaned on the descending railing just above the sparring ring. Malik set his teeth and pressed on, determined to ignore the man who was obviously waiting for him to walk past. Ignoring Altaїr was useless at the best of times. If he wanted someone's attention, he got it by whatever means necessary.

Malik braced himself as he passed the man. Moving and striking as silently as a snake, Malik's arm was caught in the other's grasp and he was pulled to a stop. "Are you certain you are well enough for the three day ride to Damascus, brother?" Altaїr would have sounded concerned if he did not carry that smug smirk on his face.

Malik tore his arm away, silent rage echoing in his actions and voice. "I will be well enough by the time we depart. Thank you for your _concern_." He pressed on, but the other assassin fell into step beside him. After a moment of silence, Malik's annoyance peaked. "What is it that you want, Altaїr?"

"As partners, we should become comfortable in each other's presence. A united team is far more useful than two single assassins." His tone was dripping with false camaraderie.

Malik's tongue was sharp in response. "We will have altogether too much time for that on our journey. Leave me in peace until then; at least you can do me that one mercy."

"As you wish," Malik glanced over to see the briefest of sly grins before the man stole away, getting lost in the crowd. Malik let out an exasperated sigh. The gall of that man.

Upon returning to his residence, empty of his brother as usual, he began to gather the necessary supplies for his journey. He came upon his dirtied robes from the day before and stared at them with disdain.

He took them up and went to the washing fountain in the town square. As he suspected, there were a number of women crouched and washing, but there were also a few novices in their midst. He approached one of the youths and added his robes to the pile already set beside him.

When the novice looked up to him with a look of distress, Malik narrowed his gaze challengingly. "Wash these and return them to me before the day is done. I have need for them in my mission tomorrow." The boy nodded his head reluctantly. Satisfied, Malik set off towards the library. Before he got ten strides from the washing fountain, an infuriating cocksure voice wrapped its way behind his ear.

"Your ribs are bothering you." It was a statement of fact, not a question. Malik did not turn, did not jump at the voice. He would not give him the satisfaction.

Malik responded to Altaїr without dignifying him with a glance, his tone sharp. "Yes, and I wonder why that is." He could see the man beside him out of the corner of his eye. Why the sudden interest? It was rare for Altaїr to approach him so frequently. Malik brushed the thought off, deeming it not worthy enough of his time to worry over.

"Is that why you are forcing your washing onto novices?"

"They must know their place within the order." Their Mentor had instructed him to teach Altaїr his place. Why not begin now? "Were you never forced to do menial tasks?"

The other man scoffed, a smirk carrying over to his tone. "No one ever dared." Smug bastard.

"For good reason. I'm sure you would have scrubbed holes into their washing." Malik's voice exuded scorn. "Do you not have to prepare your traveling gear for tomorrow?"

"I am always ready to depart on a mission."

"No doubt." Sarcasm dripped from Malik's lips. "Are you going to the library to study as well or are you simply following me to build on my annoyance?"

"I have no need to study," Altaїr replied. Could one man be any more conceited?

"Then it is the latter, I see." They were heading up the hill to the fortress by now. "Go make yourself a nuisance elsewhere, Altaїr. I have no need of it today."

The other man simply shrugged. "As you wish." He melted away into the crowd just as he had done before, blending into the other assassins in the courtyard.

Finally left of his rival, Malik gave a sigh of relief and entered the library, choosing a desk and setting to work. He worked, pouring over maps of Damascus and the surrounding kingdom. He continued on until the late afternoon, only stopping to eat a quick lunch before resuming his studying. He had spotted several inconsistencies and inaccuracies between the various maps. He made note of them as he went.

His deep concentration was abruptly interrupted as he sensed a presence just over his shoulder. He knew who it was without needing to turn to look.

"Remove yourself from my presence."

Altaїr leaned further over his shoulder, not close enough that he was touching the other man, but Malik's personal space was certainly being rudely invaded. "Why study maps when you already know the land?" His demeanor emphasized his lack of respect for the art.

Malik contained his annoyance for the moment, but only barely. "You know nothing of passing on knowledge, do you? Assassins young and old use maps to learn and strategize."

Altaїr shifted through the sizeable stack of maps spread about on the table, Malik twitching in irritation. "But why study them so intensely? Are you so out of commission that you could do nothing in the training arena?"

Malik ignored the jibe at the state of his condition. "These maps are outdated. I mean to take notes on our travels as to where the outposts are."

Altaїr scoffed at that, drawing away from the parchment as if it were some dead thing. "This is a scholar's work. Work for old men." He obviously did not hold them in the highest of regard.

"You would do well to learn some respect, Altaїr." Malik's tone was erring on a threat, his fists clenching unconsciously. He dared not start an open conflict within the walls of the library, but if he had been anywhere else he would not have hesitated, bruised rib or not.

"Is that the task Al Mualim gave to you?" That was the straw that broke the camel's back. The sheer cocksure posturing of the man drove Malik over the edge.

He stood abruptly, his searing gaze turned on the assassin. "_Leave_, Altaїr. Your presence is a stain upon everyone here."

Altaїr allowed a smirk to bloom across his cheeks, further infuriating the other man. "If I did not know better, I would say that you dislike me."

"_Get out_," Malik growled loud enough to turn the heads of a few scholars.

That smug smirk did not leave his face as he turned to go. "I will meet you at the South gate at dawn tomorrow." Malik did not dignify the man with an answer, turning back to the maps that Altaїr had mussed and straightening them with an agitated air. He took his sweet time rolling the maps back up and replacing them on the shelves, not wanting to accidentally come across that damned bastard on his way home.

The sun was setting by the time he walked into the front door to his and his brother's home. Kadar was already in the kitchen with a pot steaming on the stove. His greeting fell on deaf ears as Malik stormed past him and into his room. He found his clean robes folded on top of his traveling gear.

"A novice dropped those off a while ago," Kadar said from his doorway, leaning on the frame. Malik simply grunted an acknowledgement. He could feel his younger brother's stare boring into the back of his head. "Is it Altaїr again?"

Malik drew a hand down his face in agitation. "We are going to Damascus tomorrow to take care of some business for the Brotherhood." That was all Kadar had to hear before he knew exactly why his brother was so upset. Malik turned to look at his brother just in time to see the jealousy in his eye before Kadar looked away.

"Are you sure you are well enough?"

"Of course I am," Malik snapped, the sharp response startling his younger brother. "Sorry," Malik sighed, "It has been a long day."

"Obviously," Kadar replied, raising his eyebrows. "Dinner is ready," he said dismissively, turning away and heading back to the kitchen. Malik followed him after a moment, clearing his head of his anger. It was not fair to take out his frustrations on his brother, even if the boy had an unhealthy obsession and admiration towards the bane of his existence. He joined Kadar on the cushions as they dined, keeping the conversation to superfluous and mindless topics. It would not do to go on a mission if he left on a sour note with his only remaining family.

As they finished their meal, Malik stood, glad that the sharp twinge in his side had not returned for the moment. "I'll be gone before you get up, so stay out of trouble while I'm away, Kadar."

"I always do, Malik," his younger brother replied with a roll of his eyes. "Don't lose your head with Altaїr."

"That I cannot promise."

* * *

**End Notes:** Thoughts so far? Is it sassy enough for you? I'm having way too much fun with these two.

I'm going to try to update once a week. I have a one chapter buffer, so that should help.


	3. Traverse in Torment

**Chapter 3: Traverse in Torment**

* * *

There was a chill in the air the next morning, just as the first rays of sun began lighting the dark sky. Winter was quickly approaching and the nights were getting colder by the week. Malik gathered his packed bags after equipping his standard weapons and slipped out the door and into the quiet street. It was too early for the market, so he would have to rely on the food that he packed for a breakfast on the road.

This was not a day that he was looking forward to. In fact, he was not looking forward to the mission as a whole. Normally, he was excited to leave Masyaf, but the prospect of journeying for three days on top of carrying out the mission for who knows how long with Altaїr was something he had been dreading for a long time. It had only been a matter of time until he was put together with his rival.

Malik set his teeth. If the Mentor wanted him to keep Altaїr in check, then damn it all, that is exactly what he was going to do. He was determined to not let the other assassin get under his skin. He was going to make the best of this less than ideal situation.

He exited the gates, finding the standard two horses posted outside just for the use of assassins heading out on missions. Siding up to the black horse, Malik proceeded to secure his bags to the saddle. As he finished this, he turned his gaze about him, looking for his companion. It had been Altaїr who suggested they meet up at dawn, so why was he late?

Malik waited just outside the gate as he watched the sun slowly rise above the surrounding mountains. Damn Altaїr for being late. He definitely could have gone to the market to get breakfast, but if he left now, Malik knew for sure that that damned assassin would show up and blame him for being late.

Impatience just about got the best of him when he felt a prickle at the back of his neck. Someone was watching him. Suddenly wary, he opened up his senses, listening and waiting. It was not long in coming.

Malik drew his sword just as he heard a muffled thud just behind him. He turned and his blade met steel. At the same time, his dark eyes met amber, bright with mischief.

"A challenge so early in the morning? I'm impressed. I had thought you sorely beaten from our last bout." Malik twitched, irritated at the comment. No, this trip was not going to go well at all. Altaїr was beyond redemption. Nothing could make this man humble or obedient to the Creed. He was always going to be an overconfident, cocky, arrogant fool.

"You are late," Malik growled, not releasing the strain on their blades. It was a power struggle on two fronts: one with words, the other with brawn. Malik was certainly not backing down from either. "You said to be here at dawn, and it is well into the early morning."

Altaїr let out a provoking chuckle, shrugging and putting away his short blade. Malik sheathed his own blade after hesitating a moment. He knew the man well enough not to trust him when it came to weapons and the like. "You are the one who should know that I never wake before the sun. Perhaps you should have taken that into consideration."

"I do not make it my business to know every detail of how you live," Malik growled. It was true that he did not know everything about the man's habits, but he certainly knew more of the other man's lifestyle than he knew any other member of the Brotherhood, besides his own brother. He stalked away towards the horses, making sure his own saddle was secure and his bags tied. Heavy hooves pounded the ground before him and he looked up to see Altaїr staring down at him, his horse prancing, antsy to be on his way.

"Come, Malik, we have a three day ride ahead of us. What is taking you so long?" Malik did not have time to voice his sharp retort as Altaїr spurred his horse into a gallop and disappeared around the corner of the canyon.

Malik sneered and mounted his horse, ignoring the sharp pain from his bruised rib. If Altaїr insisted on hard riding for most of their journey, then this trip was going to be well out of his injury's comfort zone. It still hurt to cough, let alone ride. Malik carried some medicinal herbs to chew if he needed to dull the pain, but he would rather not let on to his companion of his struggles. He already felt weak enough in his presence.

He spurred his own horse on, chasing after the man. He balanced himself to minimize the jarring of the horse's gait, but it still left him cringing with pain.

It took Malik a good hour to finally catch up to his companion, who was letting his horse graze on some hay in a cart. He pulled his own horse opposite and let her eat. Malik pulled out some bread from his travel sack and began his belated breakfast.

"I thought you would never catch up," Altaїr chided, sitting back in his saddle and stretching his arms above his head.

"I thought you could not be more of an ass, but I guess I was wrong as well," Malik replied dryly. Altaїr smirked and nodded, giving that one to his partner. "We should keep moving," Malik continued. "The Templars start their rounds on the road before midday."

Altaїr stared at him challengingly. "Your horse needs a rest."

So did Malik, but he refused to voice that particular point. His ribs were throbbing from the strain of exertion. He looked about and saw a wooden outpost to the east. Finishing off his bread, he took out his notebook and made a note of its location, its fortifications, and the number of guards he could see around it.

"Doing an old man's job again?" Altaїr scoffed.

Malik did not dignify him with a glance. "Not all of my talent lies within the blade. Sometimes I use my mind, unlike someone else I know."

"One should not speak ill of a younger brother," Altaїr quipped.

The last straw had been plucked. His voice was sharp as he spat at his companion. "Look, this mission can go one of two ways. It can be vaguely tolerable, or it can be the most miserable thing we have ever done in our lives." He looked up from his notes, expression dark and challenging. The cocky smile on Altaїr's lips faded just slightly at the intensity. "Making jests about my family will force me to err towards the latter." His voice dropped an octave. "You do not want me to do that." Even Malik was unsure what he would do if it came to that.

Altaїr tossed his head back, the sun catching his scarred, crooked grin beneath his hood. "Are you sure you are in a position to challenge me?"

"Do not try me, Altaїr." The other assassin simply shrugged in response. Silence fell between them as their horses ate. Malik made a few last notes on the outpost in his notebook and placed it back in his bag. "We should go," he said lowly, trying to maintain a neutral tone.

"Lead the way," Altaїr replied, just as neutrally.

Malik pulled his horse away from the hay and she turned away reluctantly. He walked her around the cart and past Altaїr, who he eyed suspiciously. He spurred his horse into a smooth gallop, not bothering to look behind him to see if his companion followed. They continued on for a good two hours until the pain in Malik's ribs became unbearable. Fortunately, he came across another wooden outpost. He pulled his horse to a stop, her sides heaving from exertion. He took in a shallow breath, pressing a palm to his rib. Damn, perhaps he should have kept his pride in check and refused the mission after all.

Pounding hooves approached as his companion caught up. Straightening quickly, he took out his notebook once again, quickly scratching notes on the position of the outpost.

"We should not stop so close to where Templars are," Altaїr said flippantly as he approached.

Malik waved him off. "We are far enough away that they could not possibly recognize us. Besides, we are too close to Masyaf for them to be a threat."

Altaїr turned away in agitation. "We should keep going. If we have to keep stopping every few hours, it will take us four days to get to Damascus."

"Fine," Malik conceded, replacing his notebook once again. "I will take shorter notes, but I am still going to stop and record these locations."

And so the day went, Malik stopping every few hours to catch his breath, covering it up by taking notes on outposts. The sun was quickly setting when they drew their horses well off of the road, finding a clearing to set up camp for the night. Malik gingerly dismounted his horse, tying her to a nearby tree. Altaїr followed suit and they retrieved their bedrolls from where they were tied on the saddles.

Malik turned to seek out firewood and kindling. As he returned, he found Altaїr already tearing off and chewing pieces of dried, spied meat, sitting on the ground without having continued setting up camp.

The meager amount of wood that Malik had collected was tossed to the ground in frustration. "Are you planning on helping or will you simply sit around like a lame horse?"

Altaїr chewed and swallowed before responding, sounding a touch too pompous. "I am your superior. I am above menial tasks."

This man really knew how to dig under his skin. "You are also my partner on this mission and if we are to get anything done-"

Altaїr threw his arms into the air before him. "Fine, I'll set it up." Malik was decently satisfied as he watched his companion stand and go in search of more wood. Malik took that opportunity to slowly stretch his side and back muscles, trying to ease the tension that had accumulated over the long ride. He unrolled his bedroll and sat upon it, finding his own food rations. As he began eating, Altaїr returned with a good amount of wood and began propping the pieces together, setting the kindling on the inside. As he finished, he gestured to the unlit fire and sat back on his own mat, continuing with his dinner.

Malik stared at Altaїr, who did not look back. Resigning to his task, he dug in his bag and brought forth a flint and steel. He sparked it beside the kindling, growing more and more impatient as it refused to light.

"Having trouble?" The other man's voice gave away the cocky grin that his face did not reveal.

The other man continued rasping the flint on the steel. "I am sure you, with all of your superior skill, would be able to start the fire with much more ease." He allowed the anger from the pain of his rib seep into his words.

Altaїr shrugged, sitting back nonchalantly. "I'll let you be the expert here."

"You will let me?" Sarcasm rolled off of his tongue as sharp as a knife. "I am sure your kindness also knows no bounds."

He could just barely see the grin form on Altaїr's lips as he laid back, hands behind his head. "None."

Malik finally got the fire lit as the last rays of sun disappeared behind the surrounding cliffs. By the firelight, he removed his assassin robes, revealing to his deepest shame the bandages around his chest. He knew he had to tighten them, as they had come loose over the hard ride. He turned away from his companion who he knew was staring intently. Though he was expecting it, no witty comment came from Altaїr and he was able to rewrap his ribs in peace.

The next day went the same as the first. They set out early, though not as early as Malik desired, and continued on until they came across another outpost. Malik drew his horse to a stop, taking out his notebook to document its location. His ribs were not hurting thus far, but he knew by the end of the day they would be aching once again.

Altaїr reigned in his horse beside Malik, impatience clearly written across his half obscured face. "This again? Has it really been this long since you have left Masyaf?"

In all reality, it actually had been a good month since he had been sent on a mission. "Long enough, though I just recently came across the need to update the maps."

He could feel Altaїr's peering eyes looking at his scribbled notes. "Is this the additional assignment that Al Mualim gave to you?"

Malik spared the man an annoyed side glance. "It is not. Why do you keep asking? Did our Mentor give you an additional assignment as well?" By the way Altaїr let out a sharp sigh and turned away, he figured that he had not. That was one small victory at least. Al Mualim trusted him more than Altaїr to retrieve the information from their targets. "I am doing this of my own accord to better the Brotherhood."

A knowing smirk crossed the other man's lips. "Trying to catch up to me, are you?"

"I am not trying," Malik stated, placing his notebook back in its bag and spurring his horse on. "I am succeeding."

They continued on, stopping in a village to water their horses and fill their water skins. Normally, Malik would stop in the village market for fresh food, but Altaїr convinced him to continue on.

They were a full day's ride away from Damascus when they stopped to set up camp for the evening. They repeated the campfire ritual from the night before without conflict. They ate their travel rations in silence as the sky darkened, the flames of their campfire spreading long shadows on the cliff face behind them. They both kept their backs to the cliff, eyes constantly and automatically scanning the surrounding darkness for lingering threats.

The ride that day had not been as torturous on his ribs as the day before, but Malik still resigned himself to rewrapping the bandages. He could feel the other man's eyes upon him once again as he slowly removed the wrapping, but he was determined to ignore him.

Malik was unsuccessful on that front. "Are you really so fragile?" Altaїr's question was not entirely scornful or judgmental, but Malik perceived it as such.

"I am following the healer's advice, no more," he replied sharply. The chill of the evening pricked his skin as he began winding the bandages around himself once again.

Altaїr scoffed lightly at that. "Always the dutiful follower."

At that, Malik turned to his companion, gaze as sharp as his tongue. "As we _should be_."

Altaїr simply shrugged in response. "Rules can be bent."

"No they _can't_, Altaїr," Malik replied quickly, scornfully. "Not when the Brotherhood is on the line. Not with the Creed."

"In what way does bandaging yourself have to do with the Creed?"

Malik stared indignantly at the man. "Everything has to do with the Creed, Altaїr. If I am unfit, I may pose as a weak link in the Brotherhood and I cannot compromise the Assassins."

Altaїr raised his eyebrows at that. If Malik did not know better, he would have thought that the man looked impressed at his conviction. He further challenged Malik. "There can be fault in following something so blindly. Is that not what they teach us?"

"That is what we teach others," Malik explained, securing his newly wrapped bandage. "We must follow orders and strict laws to keep our own power in check; otherwise we could dissolve into madness."

Altaїr shrugged and lay back on his sleeping mat. "Is this what you study in the library for days on end?"

"This and many more topics," Malik replied quickly. Wait, how did Altaїr know that he was constantly in the library? Perhaps the man kept just as close an eye on Malik, just as he watched Altaїr. Malik brushed the idea from his thoughts, pulling his robes back over his head. When he glanced back over to his companion, he found the man with his eyes already closed and resting. He shook his head and followed suit, turning his back on his rival. That man may not fully understand the Creed, but one day he would, for better or worse.

* * *

**End Notes: **Tension is rising! Stay tuned for more sass, next Friday when I post Chapter 4: Information in Irritation.


	4. Information in Irritation

Chapter 4: Information in Irritation

* * *

The weather was noticeably colder in the evening when they approached the high walls of Damascus. Malik was very much looking forward to resting in the bureau rather than on the hard ground. Although they had to make do with cushions instead of beds, it was luxury compared to their travel conditions. The pair slowed their horses as they drew closer, under the ever watchful eye of the gate guards.

They pulled their horses up beside the stables and retrieved their travel bags, departing some coins on the stable boy to watch over their mounts. Malik glanced at the entrance to the city and the four guards standing vigilant. If they tried to press through them, they would certainly get caught. They were both heavily armed, which always drew some amount of attention, especially when there were no crowds to blend amongst.

Malik glanced about for his options. He spotted a group of white robed figures and he smirked. The Rafiq must have been informed that they were coming and sent the scholars out to aid them. He headed towards them, not bothering to pull his companion along. Altaїr would follow if he knew what was good for him. Malik approached the group of scholars and nodded a silent greeting.

"Where is your partner?" One of the white robed men asked in a whisper, head bowed under the heavy hood. "We were told there would be two of you arriving."

"He's right-" Malik turned as he spoke and his words fell short as he failed to see Altaїr. He scanned for his callow companion, his stomach dropping as he saw the white figure climbing up the side of the wall. "That idiot," Malik growled. He turned back to the scholars. "He is making his own way. Let us go in before he is spotted." As a group, they lowered their heads, hands grasped before them, and slowly headed through the gate. With his trained ear, he could hear the light steps and creaks of Altaїr leaping from beam to beam above his head. He gritted his teeth. Such recklessness would-

Not five paces away from where he walked with the scholars, the assassin dropped down from the beams above, landing in a heavy roll. Altaїr had failed to see the guard standing just around the corner from where he broke his fall.

"Stop! That man, stop him!" An uproar of riling guards erupted around them. Malik glanced over just in time to see a white robed figure disappear into the twilight shrouded city with a sizeable group of guards hot on his trail. He sighed, still blending with the scholars.

"Is that Altaїr?" One of the scholars beside him asked quietly as they slowly made their way through the almost deserted streets.

How was it surprising that the scholar knew that was Altaїr just by seeing his actions? "I assume he does this frequently." He did not keep the disappointment from his tone.

"Subtlety is not his strong suit, though he is well known as a deadly swordsman. We supporters of the Brotherhood in Damascus revere him for his talent."

Malik scoffed. "Not surprising. He has always been talented with the blade."

"We must leave you here, Assassin," another scholar whispered, and the group halted.

Malik nodded. "Thank you for your assistance and subtlety, friends."

"Peace be on you, friend," the first scholar bid him farewell. The assassin pulled away from the group, continuing down a dark alleyway in the direction of the bureau. He stole through deserted streets, widely avoiding watchful guards as he went. The sky was a deep blue by the time he came upon the alcove beside the bureau. He climbed the ladder, listening and watching intently as he reached the top to make sure he was not followed or spotted. He dropped into the bureau, setting his traveling bags beside the cushions before continuing on through the doorway.

The Rafiq looked up from his desk as the assassin entered. "Welcome, brother."

"Rafiq," Malik responded in greeting, bowing his head briefly.

"Where is your partner?" Malik sighed at the question. Indeed, where was he?

"He had to outrun the gate guards. He should be along soon."

The Rafiq turned his full attention towards Malik, crossing his arms over his chest. "Partners should help one another. Why are you not alongside him?"

Malik made an exasperated gesture. "He went off on his own and he was spotted. I lost sight of him."

That earned him a disappointed shake of the Rafiq's head. "It is your duty to move and act as one, Malik. You should know better than to allow him to get separated from you."

"You are blaming me for his callow actions?" Malik was incredulous, though he made sure to keep himself in check in front of his superior. "He moves independently. There was nothing I could do, nothing I _should_ do. If he gets himself killed-"

"If he gets himself killed, the fault would be partially yours," the Rafiq cut him off sternly. "Altaїr may be stubborn and fiercely independent, but you must work as one." Malik began a retort, but he was cut off by a sharp hand gesture. "No, Malik. You are as much in the wrong in this as Altaїr. Go rest and I will explain the circumstances of your mission tomorrow. There is bread and curry for you if you are hungry. Be sure to leave some for your partner. Contemplate my words and sharpen your blades. A dull mind is just as dangerous as a dull blade."

Malik pursed his lips at those words. He watched as the Rafiq turned his back and disappeared behind a curtain that lead to his personal chambers. He quickly ate his portion of the meal offered to him, leaving the lantern lit inside the bureau in case Altaїr also wanted to dine. Malik then busied himself with washing off the dust of the road from his face and neck at the fountain. He drank deeply of the cool water, shivering as his skin dried in the chilly evening air. He then retrieved his whetstone from his bags and began sharpening his blades as the Rafiq instructed.

The wear of travel caught up to him and he felt his eyelids droop. He rewrapped his bandage before collapsing onto the cushions, huddling to stave off the night's chill. Not long after he closed his eyes, a heavy body dropped and rolled into the bureau. Malik did not bother waking to greet his companion. He feigned sleep as he listened to Altaїr perform the same ritual as he had done, beginning with the meal and continuing on to wash in the fountain. He did not, however, sharpen his blades. Instead, he stifled the flame in the lantern and collapsed onto the cushions beside Malik. He was just close enough for Malik to feel the heat radiating from his body. Malik ignored the other assassin, continuing to pretend he was asleep. He listened to the man's breathing beside him as it gradually slowed to the deep pulls of sleep. Only then did Malik allow himself to also fall into sleep's embrace.

Malik woke well rested for the first time since he had left Masyaf. The sky was just beginning to brighten through the grate of the bureau's enclosed patio roof. He glanced over to his companion, sprawled out on the cushions, dangerously close to invading his own sleeping area. The man slept on, his hood pulled back, which was a rare sight to see. Malik found himself studying the serious expression that Altaїr wore even in sleep. Malik snorted slightly at that thought. Serious was a much better look on him than cocksure.

He contemplated waking the assassin, but ultimately decided against it. Instead, he pulled his boots on and buckled his belts in place, climbing out of the bureau as quietly as he could. The least he could do for the Rafiq was to offer him a fresh breakfast in return for the meal he provided the night before. He immersed himself in the district market, already bustling that early in the morning. Large cities always began their day earlier than small villages like Masyaf, which was nice for early risers like Malik. He picked up some sweet bread, jam, and some berries, taking in the sites of the city and becoming more familiar with the atmosphere. It had been far too long since he had ventured this far away from Masyaf on a mission.

A voice slipped beside his ear, catching him unawares. "I trust you are not starting your investigation without my leave?" It took all of Malik's restraint to refrain from jumping at the familiar voice that trailed over his shoulder. He turned to find the black-robed Rafiq with a soft grin on his face, his white hood pulled up into place.

Malik shook his head, feeling suddenly intimidated by the man. "I was just getting some breakfast for us," he replied defensively, "and getting a better feel for the city. It has been many months since I have been to Damascus."

The Rafiq nodded. "I cannot stop you from doing that. In fact, your initiative in knowing your surroundings is thoughtful and admirable. Your companion, however…"

Malik allowed a mirthless grin to cross his cheeks. "Altaїr never gets up before the sun."

"I trust that his brashness has not transferred to your decisions. I seem to recall that you are very thoughtful in what actions you take." They had begun meandering through the crowd, slowly making their way back to the bureau. "I expect you are eager to advance in the ranks within the Brotherhood. You have gained another rank since the last we met, have you not?"

Malik nodded, but drew his brows together. "Yes, but Al Mualim does not send me out on many missions. Altaїr is gone for three weeks out of every four of the month and I am lucky if I get one mission in that amount of time."

This earned him a sigh and a nod from the other assassin. "Our Mentor has plans for each and every one of us. He plays on our strengths. Perhaps he feels you are more suited to scholarly work."

"I am just as competent with a blade as Altaїr," Malik snapped before he could stop himself.

"That may be," the Rafiq said, "but you also have other strengths. Think upon that as you carry out this mission." They came upon the ladder leading to the rooftop of the bureau. Malik followed his superior up and into the hideout. They found Altaїr awake and sharpening his sword.

He looked up as they dropped in. Malik saw his eyes narrow just slightly before turning back to his work.

"Malik has brought us breakfast. Join us if you wish, Altaїr." The man smirked and nodded in response, but continued running his whetstone along the length of his sword. Malik shook his head and continued on into the bureau.

Altaїr joined them shortly after they had begun eating, sitting beside them silently and taking up a sweet bread. There was certain heaviness to the air around the three. A question ran through Malik's mind of whether Altaїr would get told off for the manner of their entrance the night before. He was not long in waiting for the answer.

"Altaїr, I am certain that I do not have to discuss your actions with you," the Rafiq stated, his tone rather stale. He had obviously confronted the assassin about this many times before. Malik had to stop himself from smirking; after all, he was at fault as well, according to the Rafiq.

Altaїr did not look up from his bread. "I would have been fine if that guard had not been off of his post."

Malik opened his mouth to give a scathing comment, but the Rafiq beat him to it, keeping his voice even, speaking as a teacher to a pupil. "An assassin must always be prepared for the unexpected and adapt accordingly. He must also not perform such actions that would cause him to attract undue attention. You would do well to follow Malik's actions." At that, Malik could not help the small smile of victory that spread to his cheeks. He knew that burning amber eyes were turned on him, but he did not give the man the satisfaction of witnessing his glare.

"Tell us where to begin our search and we will begin our mission," Altaїr snapped, standing from where he sat on the rug beside the other two assassins.

The Rafiq sighed and stood as well, stalking behind his desk and bringing out the log book. Malik dutifully followed, glaring daggers at Altaїr as he passed. The two younger assassins listened intently as their superior spoke. "I have been informed by my contacts in the city that there are four Saracen captains who have been spreading slander about the Brotherhood. They have been stationed around the city. One is in the northern section of the Poor District, another is east in the Middle District. There has been one lurking near here, and there is another in the middle of the Rich District. I expect you to gather information in your investigations before you take action, but you do not need to report your findings to me. Just bring me the proof of their death." Four white feathers were placed on the counter and Malik took them up before Altaїr could get to them.

"Thank you, Rafiq," Malik bowed his head and met up with Altaїr, who was already outside in the enclosed patio.

The other assassin did not meet Malik's scathing gaze. "Let's go," he said lowly, leaping to catch the ledge of the entrance without waiting for a response. Malik sighed and followed, ignoring the stab of pain in his side.

Altaїr was waiting for him in the street. He only half turned towards Malik, keeping his face obscured from sight. "Give me two of the feathers. We will be more efficient if we split up."

Malik scowled. "No." The other man turned slowly to glare at him, his eyes shadowed by his hood. Malik did not back down. "We are partners and we will complete this mission together."

Altaїr turned away. "Fine," he said begrudgingly. "We will start in the Poor District."

They went on, weaving through the crowds in the street. When they came across the guarded gate, they climbed over the wall rather than call upon the scholars to slip past the guards. A loud voice called over the crowd, drawing the attention of the two assassins. They blended with the crowd and listened to the crier.

"-band of miscreants threaten our very lives! They are always watching, waiting for a chance to strike where it hurts you most. If you value the lives of your families, trust in the city guard and inform them of suspicious activities at once!"

Malik saw Altaїr begin to move and grabbed his elbow, stilling whatever rash action he had planned. "No, we wait until he is alone." The man nodded silently in response, obviously put off by the restraint. They pulled away from the crowd and sat upon a nearby bench, waiting for the announcer to finish repeating his message of slander and lies. He recited his speech twice more before stepping off of the platform. The two assassins watched him as he disappeared around a corner into an alleyway, off to find another platform to perform his announcement again. Altaїr stood, Malik close in his wake. They stepped silently behind the man, following him away from prying eyes. Altaїr was the first to strike. He took a fistful of the man's shirt at the base of his neck and tossed him forward, sending him stumbling into a stack of wooden crates.

The man turned, fists bared and fear in his eyes, and saw death staring him in the face with bright amber eyes. Malik hung back as the assassin went to work, pummeling the man with staggering blows. The man was bleeding from a split lip before he gave up, collapsing to the ground to his knees.

Altaїr picked him up by his shirt. "Where did you learn this information? Who instructed you to spread these lies?"

The man's eyes were large with fear. "I know now that they are not lies." Altaїr raised a fist and the man cowered. "No, please! His name is Abdul Al-Aziz. He- he is a captain."

"Where can I find him?" Altaїr growled.

"He usually patrols the plaza in the afternoon. That is all I know. Please, let me go!" He was a pitiful sight, blood from his split lip dripping slowly onto his shirt, cowering behind his hands.

"I cannot let you continue to spread lies. Your life is mine." The distinct scrape of an activated hidden blade was muffled by the flesh it was embedded in. The man did not cry out, but looked to the sky as the life faded from his eyes.

His body slumped to the ground, Altaїr turning away from it. Malik stared at the assassin before him, expression so cold and calculating. "You did not need to kill that man," he growled lowly as they quickly left the body behind.

"He would have told our target that we are after him. He works for the lying Saracens and the Templars, if Al Mualim's beliefs are true. There was every reason to end his life." Malik remained silent after that comment, shaking his head and following his partner. His words may have been true, but there was always the possibility that the man was innocent, that he was not in fact working for the Templars. Malik knew this information would be wasted on Altaїr. What was done was done. They had a name, a place, and a time.

* * *

**End Notes:** Oh boy, more action! More sass!  
It's hard writing a fic that goes along with the correct history of the times and the lives of these characters. Their back stories are so detailed and I'm such a detail-oriented writer that it's been a trial to get everything matched up. So far I'm satisfied, but if I get something out of order, my apologies! I'm trying my best to stay true to the cannon while adding in some delicious altmal... eventually. (This fic was supposed to only be three chapters long... how did I let myself get so carried away?)  
Next time on Silent Discourse: a death and a struggle! Stay tuned for next week's chapter, Unsubtle in Undertaking!


	5. Unsubtle in Undertaking

Chapter 5: Unsubtle in Undertaking

* * *

Noon was upon them when they reached the plaza that the city crier had explained. They chose a shadowed corner to wait in as they scanned the wide open area, so full of people and life. Soon there would also be a death. They waited for what felt like an hour before they simultaneously spotted the distinct uniforms of Saracen guards walking in formation on the far side of the plaza.

"That's him," Altaїr stated, sounding all too certain. He began to walk forward, but Malik caught his arm as he had done before.

"Wait, Altaїr. Do you know for certain that this is Abdul Al-Aziz? We do not want to kill the wrong man." The assassin shrugged Malik off with an annoyed air.

"I know," Altaїr snarled through his teeth, "because I can see his intentions. He is the one with the helmet walking in front." He held out a hand. "Give me a feather. The first kill is mine."

Malik was skeptical, but he drew a white feather from a pouch at his waist and handed it to the man. He would observe the other assassin's actions; see what techniques he was prone to using. Perhaps he had been relying on others' observations for too long. He needed to see Altaїr's style firsthand. The feather was taken, and the hidden blade was out in the open.

Altaїr turned, blade bear for all to see. He had begun sprinting before Malik could voice a frantic protest, reaching out in vain to stop him. He was on the captain, blade deep in his chest, before Malik could push his way through the crowd to stop him.

There was an eruption of chaos. When Malik finally forced his way through the frantic, screaming throng, he found Altaїr, sword drawn and with four guards surrounding him, the dead captain at his feet. He drew his own sword, leaping at the closest guard and impaling him in the back. He choked, but did not cry out as he fell. Malik wrenched his sword from the corpse and turned to find another guard upon him. He could hear steel on steel ringing through the din of screams and he saw Altaїr staving off two guards at once. Malik was brought back to his own challenge when a flash of silver caught his eye and he parried the blow easily. With a low swipe, he severed muscles on the back of the guard's legs, making the man collapse before him. Malik swept down, blade pressed to his neck.

"What lies has your captain been telling you about the Assassins?" Malik hissed, the sword barely cutting into the man's neck, a thin trickle of blood making its way down his tender skin.

The man spat in Malik's face, but the assassin refused to release his hold. "All you Assassins want is to aid the Christian King and murder all those who would protect the rightful ruler of this land."

"That is not our cause," Malik said lowly. "You have been lied to. How did your captain come to tell these lies? Who does your captain answer to?" He could see the life in the eyes of the guard leaving as the blood from the wounds in his legs pooled about him. Malik tossed the man to the ground and turned to find his companion doing the same with the last of his guards. He moved to Altaїr's side and urged him on. "Let us be gone before any more unnecessary blood is spilled," he growled, voice dripping with acid.

As they stole away down a dark alleyway, they heard a guard call after them. Malik cursed under his breath and ran faster, Altaїr easily keeping up. They ran until the disquiet was far behind them, but the guard was still close on their tail. Altaїr stole to the side and climbed up a scaffolding structure. Malik looked at it with distain, his side already throbbing, but followed regardless. At the top, Altaїr stopped, drawing a throwing knife.

Malik saw the intent too late. "Altaїr, _no_-" The knife was thrown and the guard fell. Malik turned to spit a reprimanding comment at his companion only to find that he had begun running once again. Malik followed, anger reaching a boiling point. They came to a stop in a deserted, dark alleyway. Both strained their ears for any sound that they were followed.

Malik opened his mouth to lecture his companion, but was silenced when a reddened feather was flashed before him. "The first captain has been dealt with. One of the four is silenced."

"Yes, him along with five others," Malik's voice was sharp and scathing. He sighed, knowing he could never get through to the man. "We should report back to the Rafiq."

Altaїr replaced the bloodied feather in a pouch at his side. "The Rafiq does not approve of my methods. Perhaps you could put in a good word for me. He listens to you."

Malik stared at the man incredulously. "_I _do not approve of your methods."

"I am an assassin. I take lives," Altaїr said with conviction, ignoring Malik when he tried to respond. "We are men of action. Why do methods matter when the job is done?"

"We must always be in control of our environments." Now he felt like he was lecturing a Novice who refused to listen. "Discipline wards off chaos." It was one of the first lessons that they learned when they began their studies in the Brotherhood. He should not have to tell a man who was a full member of the Assassins this basic information.

"That man was spreading lies about us. I ended his life to stop the chaos that would result from those lies continuing." It would have sounded like logic if the man had not disregarded all of his teachings.

Malik gestured exasperatedly in the direction that they had run from. "Did you see the chaos that your actions caused?"

The man's tone was carefully neutral. "Short term chaos is excusable if the long term mission is upheld."

It was hopeless. Malik sighed, flustered. "Your actions were unnecessary," he said scathingly.

Altaїr turned on him, one fluid motion bringing him within arm's reach. Amber eyes burned with the fury that was reflected in his words. "Fine, how would you go about it, _Master_?"

Malik stood his ground, unflinching at the man's confrontation. "With _discretion_. Find out when the guards change, wait until he is alone. Wait, listen, watch," he concluded, emphasizing those last three words.

Altaїr tossed a hand in front of him, an impatient gesture. "That would take days. The captains are spreading rumors as we speak and we are to put an end to them as soon as possible." If there ever was a doubt in Malik's mind that this man was unsurpassed in his stubbornness, it was rendered nil.

"We are to silence them, not cause mass upheaval. If we openly murder them, we will only perpetuate those lies that they are telling. Do you not see the irony of your actions?"

The rancor in Altaїr's voice reached a new height. His fists clenched and his shoulders stiffened as he spoke. "Did Al Mualim send you on this mission to lecture me? Because you are excelling at that."

Malik's reply was just as sharp, though he was careful to keep his volume in check in case there were guards nearby. "He told me to listen to the lies being spread, Altaїr. I am lecturing you because everything you do creates a scar upon our Brotherhood's reputation for subtlety."

The other assassin growled. "I am your superior in rank. You should not be telling me what to do." It was a threat, but Malik failed to heed it, instead adding to the already scorching flame.

"Obviously you were given your title for skills outside the realm of thought and common sense."

A flash of anger crossed those already burning amber eyes and Malik anticipated the man's action just a fraction of a second before the fist came barreling towards him. He caught it just in time, only to be distracted from the other fist that barreled towards his chest. The knuckles buried themselves into his side, but Malik twisted just in time for the blow's full force to be glanced off. Malik retaliated, slamming his palm into Altaїr's shoulder and sending him off balance.

Malik began to straighten, but the other assassin recovered faster than he anticipated. Before he knew it, an elbow was jammed into his injured ribs and a shooting pain racked up his side. A cry of agony came unbidden to his lips and he curled upon himself, his already injured ribs screaming. He saw the man falter at his reaction beside him just slightly. Taking the opening, Malik cupped his fist in his hand and turned, using his momentum to slam his elbow in full force into Altaїr's nose. He did not hear a crack, but by the way the man staggered back, grasping his face with blood trickling down his chin, he knew he at least done some damage.

Both men stooped over, clutching their injuries and breathing heavily, staring daggers at the other. Altaїr straightened first, holding the bridge of his nose and wincing as he sopped up the blood from his chin and lips with his sleeve.

Altaїr was the first to speak, his voice muddled by blood. "Those bandages weren't just for show?" His tone was not entirely without sympathy, though it carried a large overshadowing animosity.

Malik hissed as he drew in pained breaths, his ribs protesting loudly. "Did you think me unscathed by our sparring match? The healer said that you missed vital points, but-"

"I never aim to kill when sparring with a brother." The insolent man was obviously offended that Malik would think of such a thing of him.

He managed to straighten, the shooting pain retreating to the usual dull ache. The anger had been somewhat satisfied as he relished in the sight of the man's bloody face. His comment was almost conversational in its tone. "There have been plenty of times when I thought you were."

The smirk that spread across Altaїr's face was unexpected, but anything was better than his fury. Those were the times when Malik was unsure that he would live to pull another breath. As it was, the expression was a welcome sight. "Anything to silence your tongue."

Malik tried his best to keep the lingering anger from his words. They came out as a dry deadpan. "And here I thought that I was the one doing the silencing."

The laugh that Altaїr erupted with was, for once, not full of scorn and superiority. It was genuine mirth. Somehow, this did not infuriate Malik as much as he had expected and he found his mouth slipping into a reluctant smile.

The laughter was short lived, but the good nature still persisted as Altaїr asked the question that he had obviously been holding since the beginning of their journey. "Why did you come on this mission if you were still so hurt?"

Malik rolled his eyes. "I can't let you reach Master before I do, can I?"

Eyebrows were raised at that comment. "You think you can beat me to it?" The man was skeptical.

"Someone has to put you in your place."

Altaїr grinned, placing a hand on Malik's shoulder, the touch lingering noticeably. "I would like to see you try." Malik stared back dubiously and shoved the arm away. It was a far too companionable gesture to let continue.

"We must report back to the Rafiq. Try to not attract attention on the way." Malik gestured vaguely to the blood smeared on his partner's lips and chin. Altaїr simply rolled his eyes in return, wincing once more as he attempted to wipe his face clean. It was a hopeless effort without a wet cloth and the blood on his sleeve was no less alarming.

The pair stumbled into the bureau just as the evening bells rang through the city. They found the Rafiq behind his counter, his nose buried in a book. He glanced up as the two entered, his brows drawing together as he saw Altaїr's mess of a face.

"What happened here?" His voice was accusatory rather than worried. Malik saw Altaїr's expression grow stony. Without waiting for an answer, the Rafiq continued. "Were you successful?"

Altaїr drew forth the reddened feather and presented it to the man, proof that blood had been spilt. "The job is done," he replied, voice just as hard as his expression. "The Saracen captain Abdul Al-Aziz is dead."

The Rafiq took the assassination log out from under the counter and opened it to its current page. He did not look up as he wrote. "And the manner in which it was done?"

"Unsubtle but efficient," Malik replied before Altaїr could talk his way out of answering the question. He stole a scathing glance at his companion. "The insolence has been dealt with." Altaїr scowled back and glanced away, his hood obscuring his features.

At that, the Rafiq glanced up at the pair, generally unimpressed. "Indeed. Rest now and continue with your investigation when you see fit." He looked directly at Altaїr, who did not meet his gaze. "And wash the blood off of your face. You are unsubtle enough as it is; no need to paint yourself with your intentions for all to see." At that, Altaїr scowled and turned, stalking out onto the patio.

As Malik made a motion to follow, the Rafiq shot him a question. "Did you discover what slander has been said about the Brotherhood?"

Malik nodded once. "Some. They have been told that we have sided with the Christian King in his conquest to reclaim the Holy Land."

The Rafiq rubbed his chin, eyebrows coming together once again. "That is troubling news."

"I will try to extract more information from our next targets. I was unable to speak to this captain before he was silenced." He did not let his annoyance go unnoticed.

That comment drew the criticizing stare of the Rafiq towards him. "I still expect you and Altaїr to work together." Malik pursed his lips as he continued. "I assume that his injury did not come from the target." Again, Malik did not comment. He thought of telling the man that the fight had been started by his companion, but he refused to say something so petty. In the end, he simply nodded his head and excused himself from the Rafiq's presence.

Malik found Altaїr crouched before the fountain, orange light from the sunset playing across his bare back as he scrubbed furiously at the blood stains on his robes. Malik sat himself gingerly on the cushions, digging through his travel bags for his cleaning cloth and wiping down his blade. He stole a glance at his companion's turned back as he worked, noticing the muscles rippling across his shoulders as he scrubbed at the cloth. He was mesmerized by the movement, by the scars both new and old that were scattered across his light olive skin.

He was only broken out of his reverie by the Rafiq informing them that he had dinner prepared if they wished to partake. Altaїr stood with a muttered curse, leaving his robes to soak and heading to search in his own travel bags. As he approached, Malik suddenly became aware that he had ceased cleaning in favor of staring at his partner. He quickly went back to work as Altaїr dug out a second set of robes and pulled them over his head.

Altaїr stopped at the bureau door and turned back to stare expectantly at Malik. "Are you coming?" His voice was full of scorn and resentment.

Malik set aside his blade and followed, struggling to clear his mind from the thoughts swarming in his mind. This man was his rival and he had despised him for as long as he could remember, so why was it that this man fascinated him so much?

* * *

**End notes:** Hey peeps, you guys should review and tell me what you think so far! I'm having so much fun writing this thing, it's ridiculous.

Stay tuned for next week's chapter: Camaraderie in Conflict!


	6. Camaraderie in Conflict

**A/N:** You get this chapter early because I will be away from my computer for the next few days. Also, because I am nice and a good person and I don't make you wait 3

* * *

Chapter 6: Camaraderie in Conflict

* * *

"These men don't know anything."

"How do you know? They have not even spoken yet."

"I can see their intentions."

Malik rolled his eyes at his companion, sitting beside him on the bench in the Rich District plaza. The two characters they were listening in on looked suspicious enough to him to warrant a closer look, but Altaїr thought differently. This was the third conversation that they had listened in on, and the third conversation that Altaїr had correctly predicted to be unhelpful or uninvolved with their search for the second captain.

"Fascinating," sarcastic praise dripped off of Malik's tongue. He stood and glanced around. "Perhaps with your superiority you could conjure up some information for us."

A low, self-righteous chuckle came from his companion, still sitting on the bench with his hands clasped before him. "This is _your_ captain to find and silence. Please, show me the proper way to uncover information, _Master_ Malik."

If Malik had any less restraint and a lower tolerance for his own pettiness, he would have kicked the man. He was determined to learn information without resorting to killing the informer, but so far his attempts had all run flat. All of this had not gone unnoticed by the cocky bastard he had for a partner, and he was not silent in pointing it out. It was already almost noon and all of their efforts had thus far been in vain. He knew they should work together, but Malik was determined to not stoop so low as to ask for help from his rival.

As it was, Malik turned and stalked away, not bothering to look back and see if Altaїr followed. Soon enough, there was a brush at his shoulder and a whispering voice in his ear. "Perhaps we should listen in on some guards instead of civilians."

"I do not need your help," Malik growled at him. He could see the crooked, scarred smile as Altaїr sided up to him.

"No, but you will take my advice regardless." Malik rolled his eyes. This man was insufferable.

They sat upon a bench in the shade of a mosque and listened in on a group of guards stationed at its entrance. Altaїr gave Malik a knowing and victorious smirk that the other man ignored.

"Has the captain told you anything else about this new menace trying to destroy Saladin?" The first guard asked his two comrades.

One of them shrugged. "I heard that the Christian king had gotten new recruits."

The third guard scoffed at the two. "You are obviously not in Qusay Saqqaf's inner circle." Malik honed in on the words. "It's the Assassins. They are the ones infiltrating his army and adding to its strength. They mean to take over."

The first guard looked aghast. "I thought the Assassins were only a rumor."

"The captain of the Poor District was killed yesterday by a knife wound in his chest. You can't tell me that is not a coincidence," the third guard divulged.

The second guard added. "None were left alive." Malik shot his companion a scathing glance, but the man was intently focused on the conversation between the district guards.

"Will Hameed Ali be appointing a new captain?" Now they had two names to look into: their target and possibly the captain's superior officer.

The third guard, apparently in close contact with their captain, shook his head. "Not until this assassin is dealt with."

Beside Malik, Altaїr stood. "We will hear no more."

Malik glared up at him. "If we follow that guard," referring to the third man, "we may find our target."

"Why follow him when we can interrogate? It makes for quicker results." That man was insufferable.

"Quicker, yes," Malik conceded before sharpening his voice. "But also idiotic and unnecessary." At that, the other assassin sighed and sat back down on the bench. They waited a good while until the guards changed, sitting in tense silence. As the third guard walked away, the two assassins stood in unison and followed the man at a distance, weaving through the afternoon crowds. Malik could sense the impatience wafting around his companion but was content to ignore it wholeheartedly. As the guard approached a building with bars across the open windows, Malik breathed a silent sigh of relief. The man had led them to the district's guard post. The pair waited until the man closed the door behind him and stole to the window, sitting just outside of its viewing range.

"Captain Saqqaf," the now familiar voice of the guard carried out of the window, "I wish to report." After a silence, he appeared to receive permission to speak. "The guards on the plaza did not know of the assassin attack yesterday. Is it in the plan to keep this silent?"

"Only those with the loudest voices are told of this threat," a gruff voice answered. It stirred a deep mistrust in Malik and by the way Altaїr's brows drew together, the feeling was mutual. "Those who openly speak out against the Assassins are always in danger."

The guard's voice held fear in place of the arrogance it once had before his peers. "Then why did you tell me to speak out?"

"Your life is meaningless in the grand scheme of this war. It is an ageless battle that you could not possibly comprehend. It reaches beyond the scope of the Crusades." If there ever was a doubt in Malik's mind as to who his next target would be, it was washed away by the man's words. His disregard for the life of his comrade was almost as condemnable as his affiliations with the Templars.

The guard was clearly shaken. "Y-yes, Captain. I will take my leave." The two assassins dissolved into the shadows behind the building as the man emerged, carefully looking over his shoulder for any potential threats before hurrying on. Little did he know that he would live to see another day, even as he was being watched by the two men he was so terrified of.

The door opened once again and the two assassins saw their target stalk out into the street, confidence emanating from his proud gait. He walked on, unaware of the threat that followed in his footsteps. They went on for quite a while, weaving through crowds and passing through markets. Then, the man made a fatal turn. He strode through the entrance to a dark alleyway, and the two assassins quickened their pace to follow.

Malik's breath caught in his throat, almost suspicious of the man's actions. He stepped into the alleyway regardless, as did his companion, and they followed the man on silent feet. He turned one more corner, and Malik stole forward to strike. His hidden blade was out and he was upon the man just as he was turning, the look of suspicion turning to one of shock and dismay. Whatever confidence he once showed was gone, his sense of invulnerability thrown to the wind as the blade slid silently into his chest. Malik angled his strike so as to not stab the man's heart, keeping him alive long enough to question him.

"How did you-" the man gurgled, his legs failing beneath him. Malik eased his victim down onto the ground, hidden blade now pressed to his throat.

"Tell me about Hameed Ali and the lies he has told you," Malik growled, pressing the blade into the soft skin.

The man choked out a laugh. "Why should I tell you, Assassin? How do you know it will not be a lie?"

"This is your last moment alive. You will not use it to further corrupt this world, Templar. Now tell me, what lies have you been spreading?"

"Do you know what we Templars do? We instill fear in the people. We make them fight for our cause by planting information into their tiny, manipulatable minds." The man wheezed in a wet breath. "Saladin has retaken Acre and Jerusalem, so we must stand and fight to keep Damascus safe from the Christian King. You Assassins fight for peace," Saqqaf spat, "we are achieving it."

"Through war and lies?" Malik growled.

"Through conquest and leadership," he replied.

"There is the problem with leaders," Altaїr quipped. "They are easily silenced."

Saqqaf coughed, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth. "Silenced, maybe, but once the words are said they live on."

"It ends with you," Malik finished, slicing the man's throat. The throes of death were silent and ended quickly. A feather was pressed to his red neck and replaced in a pouch at the assassin's waist. Malik withdrew his hidden blade and stood to face his companion. "One target, one name, one death."

Altaїr shrugged him off. "I could have done it in half the time."

"Yes, and for the other half you would be spending escaping the guards that caught you. I revealed information to relay to Al Mualim about the Templar plans. I also have a name for the man behind the rumors." Malik strode past his partner, who followed and fell into step beside him as they weaved their way through the dark alleyways. "If you had interrogated and killed that guard, you would have killed an innocent. Qusay Saqqaf had set him up as bait for us."

"No affiliates of the Templars are innocent, whether they claim to be Christians or Saracens." Altaїr replied, though his excuse fell flat. It was a weak argument, and he knew it.

Malik shook his head. "I will not continue to argue with you about this. Let us return to the bureau and inform the Rafiq of our findings and of Qusay Saqqaf's death."

"Lead the way," Altaїr conceded. With that, Malik stole him a challenging smirk and took off at a sprint, climbing up a stack of crates and catching the ledge of the roof. He glanced over to see Altaїr climbing up beside him, a crooked grin on his face. Malik ran with light feet across the roof, leaping from one building to the next, his companion not too far off. The twinge of pain in his ribs was noticeable but not bad enough to slow him down.

The two assassins reached the rooftop entrance of the bureau simultaneously, though by different routes.

They dropped into the bureau and approached the Rafiq together. He glanced up and appeared to be pleased at the sight of the two men looking at least companionable.

"Greetings, brothers. I sense that the day went well. What have you accomplished?"

Malik stepped forward, presenting his bloodied feather to the man. "Qusay Saqqaf, the Saracen captain of the Rich District is dead. He spoke of Hameed Ali. He is supposedly the one spreading the lies to the captains."

The Rafiq nodded at this, taking note in the Assassin ledger. "He must be the Templar behind all of this. I will send word to Al Mualim of this man." He retrieved a pigeon from a cage beside the counter. "Go rest; I will have a meal prepared soon."

"Thank you, Rafiq," Malik said before retreating, Altaїr following suit. Malik went straight to the fountain, washing the blood from his hidden blade and splashing water onto his face and neck. Altaїr sat on the cushions, drawing his sword and running his whetstone along its length. Malik soon joined him, removing the rest of his weapons and storing them off to the side before sharpening his own sword beside the man.

Feeling oddly companionable, Malik asked the question that he had wanted to ask the man for hours now. "What did you mean when you said that you could see our target's intentions?" It had been the second time that the man had mentioned it, and Malik was burning to know what exactly it was.

Altaїr was readily receptive to the question, oddly enough. Malik figured he answered simply because he enjoyed bragging about himself. "It's a special sight. I don't know how to describe it. I have been training myself on how to use it. I call it Eagle Vision."

Malik scoffed. "That's not pompous." He looked to Altaїr to see him raise an eyebrow, but a smirk formed on his lips. Malik took a stab in the dark. "What can you see of my intentions?"

Those amber eyes were concealed, Altaїr's expression falling flat as he closed his eyes. When they once again fell upon him, Malik felt like they were burning through him. The odd feeling sent a shiver down his spine that had little to do with the evening chill. The gaze broke and the smirk was back again.

"Not entirely sinister," Altaїr replied, returning to sharpening his sword.

Malik rolled his eyes. "You are just saying that because I am not brandishing my blade at you."

Altaїr feigned surprise. "You do not believe me?"

"I do not believe anything that you say." It was meant to be lighthearted, but by the way Altaїr's expression fell, leaving only a hollow smirk behind, that is not the way it was taken.

Altaїr laughed quietly, mirthlessly. "You have that in common with Abbas."

Malik took a chance, prying into the man's life, seeking answers that he knew he could get nowhere else. He was not entirely sure why he wanted to know. "You two were close once."

"Perhaps." The man would not meet Malik's gaze, discomfort obvious in his tensed shoulders, his sharpening motions stilled.

It may have been too much, it may have begun a conflict, but Malik dared to pry further. "You have history with him. You were partners from a young age."

Malik did not expect the smirk that flashed across Altaїr's features, those bright amber eyes flashing mischievously at him. "Jealous?"

The other assassin sat back, aghast. He stumbled to answer. "Why should I be jealous that he was forced to be in your presence?"

Altaїr chuckled softly, turning back to his blade. "Perhaps I have read you wrong all these years."

Malik scowled. "Perhaps you were right all these years and just now you are reading me wrong."

The conversation was interrupted as the Rafiq announced their evening meal. The pair set their blades aside and followed the man to partake in the offered food.

* * *

End Notes: What's this? Getting along? Blasphemy! I have been loving your comments, keep them coming! (Kudos are nice too, thank you kudo givers!)  
Next time on Silent Discourse: some action! Whoo! Stay tuned for next week's chapter, Pinched in Pursuit!


	7. Pinched in Pursuit

Chapter 7: Pinched in Pursuit

The moon shone through the wooden grating as Malik woke, disturbed from his sleep. He blinked up at the night sky peeking through the foliage above him, confusion his only thought. He was never awoken at night without being called from sleep by another. He rarely even dreamed, his sleep typically undisturbed by noise or movement. His groggy mind tried to wrap around what exactly had woken him.

Malik opened his senses, seeking out what exactly had disturbed him. He heard the heavy breathing of one fast asleep and his ankle was constricted. Malik curled his head up to peer down and saw a figure clad in white with his arm securely wrapped around his calf, his face pressed to the fabric of his pant leg. Malik had to stop and stare at the man, his expression so relaxed in the moonlight. It was almost peaceful enough to not want to disturb.

Malik was struck by the absurdity of it all, his companion curled around his leg as a child would hold a beloved toy. He stopped, though. The warmth of the embrace seeped through the rough fabric, those hands so trained in the art of death gripping instead in peace and security. Malik briefly toyed with the idea of allowing the man to sleep on.

Vengeance still hung too heavy on his heart for all of the years he spent trying to catch up to the man's shadow. Now that Altaїr was seeking comfort from him, he could not abide by it.

In a swift move, he pulled his leg away from the embrace. The sleeping man grunted as he was jarred awake, but it turned into a shocked cry as Malik struck his face with the heel of the foot that the man was just holding. Altaїr was instantly up, a knife materializing seemingly out of nowhere and flashing in his hand.

Malik feigned waking. "Have your night terrors gotten the best of you?" He could not keep the contempt from his voice.

Altaїr released a slow breath, calming himself and sheathing the knife in his hand. He stole a scathing glare at Malik, eyes dark in the soft moonlight. "Some men kick in their sleep, it seems," he growled lowly, gingerly touching around his right eye and wincing noticeably. Malik had to keep the look of triumph from his expression. Now the man would have a black eye as well as a swollen nose.

"Some men still cling like a swaddling babe," Malik countered sharply, keeping his voice low to not disturb the Rafiq. That earned him another searing glare. Ignoring it, he rested his head back on a pillow and closed his eyes. The other man let out a frustrated growl and flumped back onto the cushions. When Malik glanced over, he found the man with his back firmly turned towards him, his arms wrapped securely around himself.

Let it be a lesson, Malik thought as he forced himself to fall back asleep.

* * *

The next day brought the pair closer to completing their mission. They walked the crowded streets of Damascus, each with their senses wide open for any whisper of information. They were in the Middle District that day, mingling with the rabble and listening in on their stories. Word of the two captains' demise had reached the ears of the people, though they kept the topic under the veil of a whisper.

Malik looked to his partner, his expression taught and carefully neutral. The stark darkness around his right eye and the red puffiness around his nose gave him a swell of triumph every time his gaze fell upon the injuries. It gave him as much glee to see them as the scar on the man's lip had in the days after the sparring match in which Malik bestowed it upon him. He was careful to keep this from Altaїr, though now he was constantly wondering if the man was using his Eagle Vision on him, not to mention using it to look through the intentions of other people.

As it was, Malik knew he would have to answer for kicking his comrade in the night, either from the man himself or by the Rafiq with his scathing words condoning their animosity. He was lucky that they left before the bureau leader had a chance to see them.

Altaїr had remained silent on the issue, surprisingly enough. Malik had expected prodding from the man, or at least a few cutting remarks, but he was left to his own thoughts.

Altaїr drew to a stop, pulling his partner by his sleeve to slip into the shadow beside a market stall. Malik was about to speak when the man held up a silencing finger, attention only trained on two men standing on the opposite side of the street. Malik honed in on their words, careful to not look directly at them as he listened. That was a novice mistake, to look directly at one who he was trying to conceal himself from.

The two men were dressed casually, but they carried themselves as city guards would. Malik figured that they were either incognito or off duty. "I have an order from the Captain. He refuses to leave his quarters except when he is needed. Something about this Assassin threat has him scared. He figures that he will be their next victim." He produced a piece of paper. "I was told to retrieve these items. The delivery time and place are marked. The Captain refuses to let anyone near his quarters, so he will be picking them up himself."

The other man looked at the list, a look of distain falling over him. "Why so many items?"

"Naveed Abujamal is afraid that the Christians will try to take over Damascus."

"Very well," the second man conceded, pocketing the list and turning away.

The two assassins turned towards one another, a silent argument between them as to who would be the one to retrieve the letter. Altaїr eventually nodded for Malik to go. He slipped among the crowd, brushing past the civilians and closing in on his target. Retrieving the letter was a simple matter of timing and soon he was back at his companion's side, paper in hand. They unraveled the note, skimming past the long list of supplies and their eyes fell upon the meeting place and time.

"So, Naveed Abujamal will be in the southern market just after the midmorning bells," Malik said to his companion, softly but loud enough to be heard over the bustle of the market. "That does not give us much time."

Altaїr smirked. "That poor man was going to have to buy all of these items and carry them all to him in an hour?"

"Our target must be quite scared."

A hint of bloodlust passed over those amber eyes. "As he should be."

Soon, they entered a different market, immersed in different smells and sounds. This one was much more open than the last, with wider streets and more sparse merchant stalls. It would be harder to find a secluded spot here. Malik glanced around, unsure of where to start. He looked to his companion and once again saw those eyes looking as though seeing through everything before him. Eagle Vision.

"What do you see?" Malik inquired, still feeling unsettled by the man's ability.

Altaїr scanned around, then stopped, honing in on a certain man. He was glancing behind him; a twitchy man. "Him," Altaїr said softly, stepping directly towards him.

"We need to get him to a secluded spot. We are too exposed here to perform a subtle kill."

Altaїr nodded at this. "He will try to run. You stay on the streets; I will take to the rooftops." How the man knew that their target would run was beyond Malik, but he nodded and stepped forward towards their target, Altaїr dissolving into the crowd beside him. He saw a flash of white sweeping across the roof of a building and knew the man was in position. Malik continued on, only making himself known to Abujamal when he was close enough for him to not easily slip away.

The man's eyes widened, and in a flurry of limbs, he turned and was at a sprint, tearing down a side street, away from his reaper. Malik followed closely, amazed at the man's speed. He did not look back at his pursuer. The assassin could hear his sharp breathing, terror getting the best of his judgment. As if on cue, Altaїr dropped from the roof down to the ground, effectively blocking the target's escape from the narrow street. Abujamal skidded to a stop and turned frantically, arms flailing, only to stop again as he saw Malik closing in. His arms were caught and pinned as Altaїr pulled him into a secure lock, too tight for the man to even think of breaking away.

"No, not yet, _please_," he pleaded, his voice a squeak of fear. "I never wanted to be a Captain!"

"Excuses will do you no good here, Templar. Tell us what you know of Hameed Ali," Malik growled at the man.

"T-the Grand Captain? He is the Templar, not me! I only get letters, I have never seen him. Allah above, let me go! I know nothing!" The man struggled uselessly against Altaїr's grip. Malik did not believe a word that the man uttered. If he knew about the Templars, then he was affiliated with them.

"What of the rumors of the Assassins joining the Crusaders?" Malik further pried.

The man nodded frantically, trying anything to get the two to let him go. "Yes, yes! I was told of these rumors. I was told to spread them as if they were truth. I did only as I was asked."

"And we are doing as we were asked." Malik let his hidden blade snap out, easily driving it into the man's chest to touch his heart. The man gasped and convulsed once, twice, and fell limp. "May death provide you the peace you could not seek in life." Altaїr lowered the body to the ground, Malik closing the dead man's eyes. He bloodied a feather and replaced it in a pouch at his waist.

Altaїr nodded and they left the body behind to be found.

"The last captain is around the bureau, yes?" Malik questioned his companion, who nodded and turned in the correct direction as they came to the sun-filled street, its occupants so oblivious of the death that had occurred just moments before.

* * *

Malik cursed, weaving around passerby in the crowded street, feet stirring dust as he sprinted. Stupid, _stupid._ He never should have let Altaїr talk him into splitting up to seek out information on their fourth and final target. He should have sensed the ill intent with his Eagle Vision and found the man first. But perhaps the other assassin had not been as fortunate in his findings, or in Malik's case, unfortunate. He had been spotted, the guards somehow knowing exactly who to look for regardless of how well Malik blended in to the crowd.

Word had spread quickly of the death of the third captain that same day. The sun was casting long shadows behind the assassin as he ran. If they had waited until the next day to pursue their final target, their endeavor would have increased in difficulty tenfold. It was better to strike when the enemy was still scrabbling to form a defense, or so they thought.

He dared not look behind him, though the shouts of the trailing guards had long since fallen away. He was stopped in his tracks, however, when a towering man easily twice his size in height and muscle blocked his way. The citizens gave him a wide berth, as they rightfully should. Malik did not need Altaїr's special vision to see that the man was a menace. A deep scar ran from his forehead, jumping over his eye and continuing down to his chin. Malik could only guess at how he had received that particular trophy. The maniacal grin did little to brighten his gruesome features.

Malik felt a chill run down his spine as he stared up at the hulking man, unconsciously drawing his sword and putting its length between them. "Rashad Hakim," he addressed the man, voice steady and dark. This was their fourth target.

The grin broadened to show chipped teeth. Intimidation, it seemed, would not prove to be effective against this man. Rashad drew his own blade, a double-handed sword that he wielded with only one. Malik dared not show a sign of weakness, refusing to back down from the threat. He tried to read the man's next movements, but Rashad simply stood there, solid as a boulder.

It was then that Malik took his first move. He lunged forward, but immediately feigned to the side. The man did not move at the first feint, however. His defense was flawless, his sword meeting Malik's easily. The assassin danced around his opponent, blocking out the commotion of the people around him. He flew a few more blows at the man, each one caught by steel and not armor or flesh. The man was not only strong, he was quick. It was a dangerous combination.

In a desperate attempt to break through his defense, Malik struck high, meaning to bring his blade down upon the man's un-helmed skull. This too was thwarted. Fear caught in his throat as massive hands closed around his forearms. He was shaken as one would a heavy rug, jarring his senses, though he still gripped his sword hilt, all of his training screaming at him to not lose his weapon. To lose one's weapon was to lose one's life. Malik bit back a cry as the hand twisted his arm. To keep the man from breaking it, Malik was forced to release his sword. He heard it clatter to the dusty street, feeling his hope of survival fall with it. Malik locked eyes with the hulking captain. He was staring death in the face, by a man stinking of corruption and lies.

He did not fear death - no Assassin did. He did not think of his own demise, only of Kadar and how his brother would have to carry on without him. The boy was naïve, but strong. He would live on; carry their family name to the next generation.

His attention was brought back to the man posing the dire threat by the man holding him captive.

"You should have taken me out first, Assassin," Rashad Hakim growled, his grin never leaving that twisted mouth. Malik struggled, first trying to pull away, then trying to use the man's weight against him. It was a futile effort, the man's strength easily overpowering him and stilling his actions. He activated his hidden blade, but it was useless with his arm caught and immobilized by the hulking man.

A hand left his right arm, immediately seeking his neck and squeezing. Malik fought, strength renewed as the new threat posed itself, but the grip around his throat only tightened. The man simply held him there, one hand still holding his hidden blade arm and the other on his neck. Malik choked for breath, grasping and kicking harshly at the man as he was lifted into the air, the blows glancing off as if they never were. Malik's vision began to blur as the hand clenched deeper into his skin, collapsing his airway. His head was filled with an unbearable pressure, but he could not cry out. He was forced into silence by that death grip. His life was in the hands of a Templar agent, and he was not letting it go.

Of all the ways to die, this one was pathetic. He could only blame himself for allowing his companion to go off on his own without knowing more about their target. He could only blame himself for underestimating the man and getting caught.

Malik continued his hopeless struggle, losing strength by the second. His kicks had stilled, his franticly clawing hand at the grip on his throat falling limply to his side. His sight began to blacken, and he labored to keep his focus. He felt the man flinch, making the assassin force his slipping attention forward, seeing a thin, sharp blade protruding from the man's thick neck, just below the Adam's apple and right beside a throbbing vein. The man did not stagger, but constricted Malik's neck harder. The blade was passed through his neck twice more before the grip was loosed and the assassin crumpled to the dusty ground in a dead faint.

* * *

**End Notes: **Holy crap, Malik! I'm (not so) sorry for torturing him. I do it with the utmost love. I also realize that I'm making Altaїr a complete ass. But I also do that out of love. Tell me what you think, my dear readers!

Next time on Silent Discourse: Recovery in Rage!


	8. Recovery in Rage

Chapter 8: Recovery in Rage

* * *

Malik woke with a jarring start, his lungs screaming for air. He pulled in a breath that felt like the very fires of Hell were passing through his airways. He tore at his throat, still feeling the deathly grip there, crushing him. His hand was caught and pulled away to stop him from scratching at his already damaged skin and he lacked the strength to fight back.

It was only then that he heard a voice, though rough and uncertain, was trying to sooth him into rest. He pulled in another breath past his damaged airway, wincing as he did, and his eyesight cleared. Bright, concerned amber eyes stared down at him, upside down as he looked up. Never before had he felt so relieved to be meeting the gaze of his rival looking down upon him.

He opened his mouth to speak, but his throat constricted as he tried to make a sound and he choked, weak and ragged coughs wracking his body.

The voice of the man was soft, carrying with it more sympathy than Malik had ever thought it could convey. "Safety and peace, brother."

Malik realized his head was cradled in the man's lap, and they were surrounded by the darkened walls of an alleyway, cloaked in the shadow of tall buildings. Evening was beginning to fall on the city, bringing with it the chill of the night. Much time had passed since he had lost consciousness. Malik shivered, though not from cold. His body was in shock, he knew, so he struggled to pull in a deep breath to calm himself.

"Rashad Hakim lies dead where he fell," Altaїr continued in his soft tone. "I have the proof of his demise." The man dared to brag about his kill while Malik lay choking on his own throat? It was the Assassin's fault for splitting them up in their search.

Malik's eyes burned with tears of fury, though he refused to allow them to fall. Instead, he reached up and took a fistful of Altaїr's cowl at his neck, his grip shaking and weak. His accusing gaze was acknowledged solemnly.

Altaїr nodded above him, not moving to remove the grip on his clothing. "I should have found you sooner, I know. I was elsewhere, following a false trail. That man was very keen to keep us apart."

Malik let out a ragged sigh, frustrated that he could not use his voice to throw incendiary accusations at the man. Instead, he let his grip fall away, his attention slipping.

"We need to get back to the bureau. Can you stand?" The question brought Malik back to awareness after his brief lull.

Malik threw him a sharp glare, seeming to say of _course_ he could stand, idiot. To clarify, he nodded. Strong, steady hands were at his shoulders then, pushing him into a sitting position. The rush to his head cracked a blinding ache through his skull. He ignored this, pulling his feet under him and standing on unsteady legs. A wave of vertigo caught him unaware, his vision darkening. In the next moment, he found himself in the supporting arms of his companion.

Irritated, he tried to push the man away, but his feeble attempts were in vain. His arm was caught and slung over the other man's shoulders, a supporting hand at his waist. Altaїr all but carried him out of the dark alleyway, Malik's legs next to useless. He would have felt humiliated if he could keep his thoughts in one coherent train. As it was, it was all he could do to move one leg in front of the other, and even then his feet dragged uselessly. He continued focusing on pulling in steady breaths that burned his throat.

He lost track of time and was only brought to full awareness when Altaїr reached out and knocked heavily on a concealed door.

"Rafiq!" The man called through t door, the volume jarring.

There were footsteps behind the door and it opened a crack, lamplight streaming into the dark street. The Rafiq's voice was harsh and accusing, "Altaїr, you should know better than to-"

Altaїr cut the man off, quick to explain. "I could not get Malik up to the rooftop entrance. My apologies, Rafiq."

"Malik?" the name was said with such deep concern that at first the injured man thought it was not the same bureau leader. Light flooded Malik's blurry vision as the door opened and he squinted away from it as it shot yet another spear of pain through his head. Altaїr carried his comrade through the open door. "What has happened?" The Rafiq questioned as he closed and bolted the door behind the Assassins.

"We split up to seek out information. Our target was more cunning than we anticipated and he further separated us by sending me on a false trail. He strangled Malik almost to his death. I found them just in time and put an end to him." The Rafiq lead them through his living quarters and into the bureau office. Altaїr set Malik down gently in the corner amongst the cushions beside a shelf heavily laden with pottery. Too weak to support himself, Malik slumped back, only able to sit up by pressing his back to the wall.

The Rafiq nodded. "Give me the details of today's kills later. Malik," he crouched beside the man, who stared at him with dazed eyes, "are you dizzy? How is your head?"

Malik let a scowl form on his face, his head lolling to one side as it rested against the cool wall. Its chill eased some of the splitting pain in his head, but it did nothing for his bitter mood. He knew he could not use his voice. Breathing was still an agony, and speaking was unfathomable.

"He cannot speak," Altaїr explained. Malik's glaring eyes followed him as he straightened and stood over the two men.

The Rafiq was understanding. "One question at a time, then. Malik, does your head hurt?"

Malik let out a raspy sigh of frustration that dissolved into a fit of ragged coughs. A hand was placed on his shoulder, and he quickly shrugged it off, not caring whose hand it was. As he gained control of himself, he glared up at the Rafiq, whose concern was plain. Altaїr crossed his arms, expression blank. Malik conceded to the question, nodding his head slowly, wincing as the movement stretched the damaged skin on his neck. Numbness had set in, but he knew that his skin was in bad shape from his frantic scrabble to get released by the hulking man.

"How bad is the ache?" Malik raised seven fingers in response. The Rafiq nodded and stood, retreating to his quarters. There was some shuffling issuing from the closed curtain. The two assassins regarded one another silently, one with a closed expression, the other with vehemence. The Rafiq entered after a few long moments, carrying a steaming cup.

He crouched beside Malik once again and offered the man the vessel. Malik reached a quivering hand towards it, angry at himself for appearing so weak. He took it and luckily managed to not spill it.

"Drink it all before it cools," the Rafiq instructed. Malik sipped at the brewed tea, unflinching as it seared his tongue, the bitterness of it revealing its medicinal properties. He drank more, the herbal concoction numbing his throat, opening up his chest. He hoped it would also stave off the stabbing ache behind his eyes.

After an extensive examination of his neck the Rafiq determined that bones had not been broken. He wrapped a bandage around Malik's neck, soaked in ointment to help soothe the raw skin. After all of this, he stood, turning to Altaїr. "Stay up with him. He is bound to have a difficult night. If he has additional breathing problems, come get me at once." After a quick meal of soup, just broth for Malik, the bureau leader bid them goodnight. The need for sleep hit Malik hard and heavy, the medicinal tea working its magic. He was able to lower himself onto the cushions spread about the floor where he sat, under the careful eye of his companion. He was asleep as soon as he closed his eyes.

It was not as fitful of a night as the Rafiq had anticipated. Malik did, however, wake in the early hours of the morning, far before the time in which he normally woke. The lamp beside him burned low, presumably for Altaїr who was supposedly awake and watching over him. When he looked to his side however, the man's chin was against his chest where he sat against the wall, caught in a deep sleep. This brought an amused grin to Malik's cheeks. So much for staying vigilant at his bedside.

Malik gingerly touched his neck through the bandage, glad that the stab of pain was superficial. If the strangling hold had damaged the internal structures, he would be in a far more perilous position. The self-inflicted abrasions would heal completely with time and proper care.

He tested his boundaries, turning to his sleeping companion and croaking out a question, voice rasping painfully, "Sleeping on the job?"

Altaїr shook awake, grunting. It took him a moment to register the words, sleepily looking at the injured man lying beside him. "And here I was hoping that you had lost your voice for good."

Malik wheezed out a chuckle. "No such luck."

Finally playing his part, albeit reluctantly, the other man asked, "How is your head?"

"Better," Malik replied honestly. He watched as Altaїr stretched, his neck obviously stiff from his sleeping position. "You do not need to stay up for me. I will survive the night." Malik was that merciful, at least.

Altaїr yawned and sunk down to lie on the cushions, appearing to fall immediately back asleep. Malik contemplated thanking the man for saving his life, but his pride got the best of him and he remained silent, losing himself in his own thoughts until he too fell back to sleep.

* * *

"I am perfectly able to ride, Rafiq." Malik had grown beyond impatient at the man scrutinizing him, checking his bruised and scabbing neck for the second time that day.

The Rafiq had refused to let the two assassins leave Damascus for three days, insisting that Malik needed the rest. There was also the fact that both of the Assassins were now notorious amongst the Saracen guards, and the rumors of them needed time to die down. The Rafiq's informants would come into the bureau on a regular basis with updates on the stirrings in the city. It appeared that even mentioning the word 'Assassin' brought fear upon the guards. As was common with these things, it was only a matter of time before the rumors stopped. That was promising. Their mission had at least been successful, if not messy.

By the third day, both Malik and Altaїr were restless to leave the city. The Rafiq had refused to let them even venture from the bureau, and tensions had risen between the three in those forced close quarters. Altaїr and Malik's arguments had become a frequent occurrence, often almost coming to blows until the Rafiq intervened with a harsh word.

Malik's injuries had healed enough that he had resumed his daily exercise regimen, minus climbing and running as he could not do so in the cramped space. The Rafiq had refused to let the two assassins stretch their sword arms in the confines of the bureau, which was probably for the best as both men were increasingly irritable.

The Rafiq regarded him, his gaze stony, but Malik could see his resolve crumbling. "So be it. You may depart for Masyaf tomorrow morning." Hiding his triumphant smirk, Malik headed out to the patio where Altaїr lay amongst the cushions, brow drawn together in deep thought as he stared at the clouds drifting by beyond the grating.

"We have been given leave to return to Masyaf tomorrow morning," he announced, far too proud of himself in that moment.

"I heard," Altaїr answered shortly, not bothering to look at his companion.

"Are you not glad?"

"Glad that we were trapped here for an extra three days because you got yourself caught?" Altaїr scoffed. "No, I am not _glad_."

The touch of fury was never very far from Malik when he spoke to the man, and the triggers had only gotten easier to trip as time wore on. "You were the one who insisted that we split up, Altaїr," Malik growled. Once he had gotten his voice back, he had used every conversation to rain guilt upon his companion. It was deflected easily by the man, which only made Malik's need to continue berating the man stronger.

"Maybe if you were not so blind and deaf to your surroundings you would not slow my investigations down." Those amber eyes were fixed upon him now, burning with a silent but deadly fury.

"I would be able to gain information just as fast if I ignored all that the Creed has taught us and botch the mission, just as you do." Altaїr was on his feet, glaring down his nose at Malik as he finished. Both tensed, clenching their fists, the storm of fervor raging between them.

"_Enough_." The Rafiq cut through the tension, voice raised and stern. "You are grown men squabbling like children. Do I need to get a wooden stick and discipline you like novices?"

Malik tossed his arms up in frustration, shoving past the bureau leader and into the office. He sat heavily on the cushions beside the chess board, setting the pieces out with hands shaking with anger. There he knew he would not be bothered. Altaїr was not one for strategy games, and the Rafiq knew better than to interrupt him.

That day dragged on agonizingly slow, a silent tension pulling between the three inhabitants. They ate in silence, the only time that they were in close proximity. The only relief they had was when the Rafiq's informants dropped into the bureau. Even they sensed the discord between the three men, setting them on edge as they spoke to the Rafiq.

Evening fell upon Damascus none too soon. After a tense dinner, Malik reluctantly stole outside to the patio, sitting on the cushions beside his silent companion, who wholly ignored his presence, continuing with his task of packing his travel bags.

Malik retrieved his hidden blade from his pile of weapons and proceeded to oil the mechanism. Slowly, the scraping was silenced and it again became a weapon of pure concealed stealth. The grate of a whetstone filled the silence between the two assassins as he continued on to sharpen it.

The two remained in silence until sleep crept over them, not coming soon enough.

* * *

End Notes:Oh hey, Altair isn't a complete ass in this chapter! Also, I had to do so much research on strangulation for this chapter. I decided to be (somewhat) merciful and not have Malik break his hyoid bone.  
On a side note, I graduate from college next week! Whoop!  
See you next week for the next exciting installment of Silent Discourse in Chapter 9: Confusion in Copulation! (Gee, I wonder what is going to happen there?)

Also, to keep with 's rating crap, I will be omitting a certain scene from the next chapter here. The full chapter will be up on my AO3. I'll give you guys a link to it, no worries!


	9. Copulation in Confusion

**Important note: **If you want the whole chapter, explicit bits included, go to my AO3 account and read it there! Here is the url: just add archive of our own with no spaces and dot org. /works/730602/chapters/1522676)

or you can find the link on my user page!

* * *

Chapter 9: Confusion in Copulation

* * *

If the first day of their travel back to Masyaf was torture, the second day the two Assassins stepped into their own personal Hell. When they rode, they stayed as far apart from each other as possible without getting out of one another's sight. When they stopped at wells or fountains, their animosity doubled, building into a silent raging fire. Before their whole journey began, Malik dreaded seeing the other Assassin. Now his visage lit something deep in his chest that he could not quite describe. It felt like it was somewhere between contempt and vehemence.

From the way Altaїr's amber eyes smoldered whenever he dared glanced over at his companion, he felt the same. When they had watered their horses, they set off again, neither bothering to wait or catch up to the other. Evening was quickly approaching. On this jaunt, Altaїr had taken the lead. Malik watched ahead of him as the man pulled his stallion off of the road, disappearing into a crevice carved into the side of the valley by harsh rains from centuries past. Malik followed him, past the entrance which was hidden by a twisted olive tree. He pulled his mare up beside Altaїr's horse and tied her to the same root protruding from the sheer crevice wall.

Altaїr shifted his head towards him from his seat upon the hard, dusty earth as he approached. The man let out a sharp sigh, making Malik's scowl deepen. "Must you make camp here?" Altaїr was clearly at the end of his rope. Malik had come to the end of his long ago and had reached the point beyond caring.

Malik decided to make things worse, simply out of spite and his own animosity towards the other man. "We set out on this mission together. We have to look out for one another."

The other man scoffed, "Perhaps _you _need looking after."

Ignoring the comment, Malik brought up more pressing issues. "Are you going to help gather wood for the fire?" He could almost hear the man grinding his teeth in agitation before he stood reluctantly, motioning sharply for Malik to move on. When he refused, Altaїr shoved past him, each step looking like it took all of his restraint to keep himself from attacking his companion. Malik's scowl was lost on the man as he recovered from getting pushed to the side with a single broad arm sweep.

None too soon, the two Assassins had successfully set up a small, crackling fire in their nook in the canyon wall. They were back on travel rations, rather unsatisfying after the Rafiq's home cooked meals. They ate in a stiff silence, the flame crackling between them, staving off the chill of the cloudless night. The rains would begin soon, Malik knew. He was grateful at least that they had held off for the duration of their journey. It was always a misery to be sent on a mission in the middle of winter in the rain, speckled intermittently with snow.

Malik took a deep breath, calming his hatred-heavy heart before he spoke to his companion. "We will reach Masyaf tomorrow. We should plan on what to say to Al Mualim."

"We will say what I always say," Altaїr replied flippantly. "That the mission was a success. Nothing more needs to be said."

Malik stared at the hooded man sitting off to his right, the orange glow of the fire casting severe shadows over his already serious face. "That is a convenient way of glossing over the truth."

Amber eyes reflected the inferno of the challenge presented by the man. "What truth?"

"That you acted rashly, disregarding all teaching of subtlety that the Brotherhood values above strength." Malik's words bit through the tense air.

Altaїr sighed sharply. "Are you going to give me yet another lecture on the Creed?"

"Someone ought to," Malik sneered in reply.

"Is this all that you were taught, to lecture your mission partners on all of their wrongs?" The man spat the words, turning to stare daggers at Malik, who steeled.

"These are the teachings that I grew up with. They are the words of my father, of our culture, of the Brotherhood." The tension was rising, Malik's restraint reaching its limit.

Altaїr's next words drove him deeper into the perilous abyss of fervor. "You are not your father, you are not a Master Assassin, you are not a scholar." His voice was sharp, accusing. It cut Malik deeper than he had anticipated. "You cannot simply walk in your father's shoes and repeat all that he knew as if you were living on for him."

Malik's voice dropped, though it did not lose its edge. "I do not know much about how my father lived, I just know that he lived by the Creed, as did your father. If Umar was half the Assassin I have heard about, he would still have been a great man. If you had taken your teachings from him, perhaps you would not be so disrespectful of our ways."

"My father was almost a stranger to me. My actions are my own." His conviction was strong; Malik would give that to him. It would not distract him from the obvious faults that the man showed so openly and proudly.

"So there is no one to blame for your stupidity except yourself."

Altaїr turned on him, eyes flashing dangerously with anger. "You should not speak to me like that." And there it was; that expression that told Malik that he may not survive until the end of this conversation. He did not, however, back down from the threat. Instead he replied with a threat of his own.

"I _will_ speak my mind."

Altaїr scoffed harshly. "Your mind is obviously soured."

"You are one to talk," Malik growled back.

"At least I have the skill to back up my words." Malik would have felt shame for his next actions if he had not been so blind with rage towards his rival. He would have regretted it, he would have stopped himself. As it was, lunging at the man and watching his expression as he slammed him into the hard ground was satisfying enough for him to forget all restraint in that moment.

Altaїr retaliated instantly, but Malik was ready for it. They struggled, each trying to best the other as they wrestled. Altaїr managed to catch Malik's wrist, wrenching it up his back and pinning the man to the ground, using his other hand to press his face into the dust. Malik snarled and struggled, managing to roll out of the hold.

They rolled around in a flurry of limbs and fists, their fury getting the best of their judgment and training. Malik managed to grab back of Altaїr's hood, pulling it off. They choked on the dust that they kicked up in their skirmish. The horses nickered nervously, shying away from the wrestling men.

The pair exhausted themselves, but they still battled on. Malik soon found himself with his back pressed to the earth, an arm pinned above his head to still his flying fist that had managed to land a few satisfying blows. His other hand had a fistful of Altaїr's sleeve, but fatigue prevented him from pulling the man off of him. They glared into each other's eyes, panting slowly from their prolonged exertion.

He did not know which one moved forward first. All Malik knew was that one second they were in the throes of battle, and the next their lips were entwined, biting and desperate. Instead of pushing away, Malik was now pulling him closer, crushing his lips against the others'. Altaїr let out a growl from deep in his throat that for once appeared to not be out of anger. It was _hunger_. Malik pulled in a gasp as he felt hips grind up against his, a desperate needy motion.

Malik would have teased the man about his forwardness, his hastiness. As it was, if he were in his companion's position he would have done exactly the same.

A lust bloomed that he had never anticipated, especially not towards _this_ man. His mind was screaming against him, but his body cried for more.

After an immense internal battle, his mind won. He reluctantly pressed the man away, though their faces were close enough to feel each other's heavy breaths. "This- this is sodomy! The law-"

Altaїr cut him off quickly, breathing the words, lust hanging heavy between the two Assassins, replacing the fierce animosity of just moments before. "Our law is the Creed and it says nothing of sodomy."

Malik narrowed his gaze, his desire just as strong as his annoyance. "So _now_ you are following the Creed?"

The sly grin that flashed on his partner's scarred lips now evoked not only resentment, but a certain craving. "_Everything_ is permitted." Those devious lips dove down to tease the skin behind his ear.

Malik subconsciously turned his head to allow the man easier access. "This is so wrong…" His conviction was quickly crumbling as the man began to undulate his body ever so evocatively over his own. Malik received the motion with relish, pressing his lower back away from the hard ground to meet the other's body.

"Do you want me to stop?" There was the arrogance, the annoyance that Malik was waiting for.

Malik growled, not wanting to give in to the man but also overcome with lust towards him. "No." He clutched the man tighter, easing his palms over the man's working muscles through the rough spun robes as he continued to grind up against him.

* * *

(AO3 for smut!)

* * *

Altaїr was collapsed on top of Malik, both of them catching their breath. In that moment, all Malik wanted to do was to feel the weight of his rival on him, to feel the heat that had built up between them and relish in the fact that just this once, they were on top of one another not in hatred. Lust was no less a sin, but at least Malik would have fewer bruises in the morning.

Malik's mind slowly caught up to him and he was all at once horrified at his own actions, terrified of what the consequences could be. He had never been a religious man himself, but the ideas were nonetheless prevalent around him. It was only natural for him to internalize the negative ideas towards these devious acts.

He shoved Altaїr off wordlessly, not meeting his gaze. The man allowed the action, barely catching himself as he landed on the hard ground. Altaїr opened his mouth to speak, but the words fell from existence as Malik lay on his sleeping mat, back turned to his companion and the world. His thoughts would keep him awake for a while yet, but he refused to acknowledge the man whom he had just been so intimate with.

His body's satisfaction was plagued by guilt, by uncertainty. He fell into sleep with questions running rampant through his mind, but one held a most prevalent place.

What did it _mean_?

* * *

**End Notes:** Finally, am I right?! A note on sexuality during the 11th and 12th centuries: there was no concept of homosexuality yet and sodomy was a crime punishable by death. Also, both Altair and Malik eventually have children (canonically) so they are at least in part bisexual. On a side note, just to clarify, neither of them were virgins. They kill people for a living and they are already 22, so of course they have had lovers in the past.

Stay tuned for next week's chapter: Home in Havoc!

(Another side note: I'm graduating with my BA in Psychology tomorrow! Woo hoo!)


	10. Home in Havoc

Chapter 10: Home in Havoc

* * *

Malik woke with no answers to his questions. He stirred and found his loins crusty with dried seed. If the night had calmed his disquiet any, it was instantly renewed. He dug in his travel bags and produced a new set of robes and pants. He spared a glance at his companion who slept on, undisturbed by the brightening of the sky. The world around them was gray, the horses just starting to stir. Malik replaced his soiled pants and robes, both from the sticky spunk and from the dust from the two Assassin's row. His second set of robes was barely cleaner, still spattered with blood stains that had refused to wash out completely. They would have to do for the last leg of the journey and to see the Mentor.

It was not a long wait until Altaїr stirred and woke. The pair silently gathered their travel gear and loaded the horses, actions strictly routine. All that was missing was Malik's nagging and Altaїr's impudent responses. Malik refused to give the man a passing glance. He would not give him the satisfaction of knowing how much the man was in his thoughts, plaguing and tormenting him. Malik refused to give him that power over him, refused to be seen as weak.

They set out at an easy pace, allowing the horses to warm their muscles after the chilly night. Malik set his mouth, keeping his eyes on the road before them, expression as stony and as uninviting as he could muster, his hood drawn further forward than usual. Altaїr appeared to take the rather unsubtle hint and remained silent, expression hidden to Malik behind his own hood. He had not changed his robes and the brown dust clung to the rough spun fabric. He looked like a man who had been traveling for weeks, not days. The stubble that clung to his cheeks after those days of travel only added to his haggard appearance. He may have been holding his head high, but Malik could see a distinct droop to his normally arrogant posture.

These thoughts may have brought a smirk to Malik's face before their act of intimacy. Now all he felt was confusion.

They rode on in silence, eventually spurring their horses into a gallop, the gap that developed between them a blessing. It was only when Malik pulled ahead of Altaїr that he could let his mask fall, uncertainty plastered on his features. The pounding hooves below him masked the despairing groan that could no longer be contained.

He rode on, skirting past outposts, the terrain becoming more and more familiar. He stopped his horse at well known water wells, Altaїr always quick to catch up. Even as they stopped to dine on the last of their travel rations they did not speak, did not meet each other's searching gaze. Lingering between the pair was the unmistakable air of desperation, of wanton and unsatisfied desire. Overshadowing this was an omnipotent questioning and uncertainty, driving the pair into a heated silence.

The gates of Masyaf did not appear soon enough, but when they were revealed as the pair rounded a corner, they were such a sweet sight. This was home. This was their family. They dismounted their exhausted horses at the stables, instructing a novice to deal with their travel bags.

Late afternoon was coming upon the town as the two Assassins stepped out from the shade of the horse stalls.

Malik glanced up at the tall, regal walls of the fortress standing tall and proud on the hill before them, glad to see it after his ordeal. There was a hand at his elbow, seeking to draw his attention and stop his forward motion. He steeled, not turning to face the man who had stopped him.

"Malik," Altaїr began, but was sharply cut off, the other man wrenching his arm free, perhaps a bit too aggressively.

"We will speak to Al Mualim," he said briskly, leaving no room for comment before he set off again, forcing Altaїr to follow.

They found the Grand Master pacing behind his desk in his library study. He turned as the two approached, bowing their heads in respectful greeting.

He opened his arms, an odd smile passing over his wrinkled features. It was an odd look, but Malik knew he was reading too much into it. "Welcome. I have been informed that your mission was a success, but there is only so much one can write and send by word of wing." He motioned for the two Assassins to begin their tale.

Malik jumped at the opportunity. "It is true that the four captains are dead, but they were not true Templars themselves. They only worked for them. The man behind the rumors is the Templar influence."

Al Mualim nodded. "Ah, yes. Hameed Ali. The letter told me as such. I have not heard his name before, but I am certain that he has not given up his plight. Malik and Altaїr, you have done well to retrieve this information. Now tell me what lies they have been spreading."

"They told that the Brotherhood has joined with the Christian King in his quest to retrieve the Holy Land from Saladin," Malik continued. This should have given him a swell of pride, to tell the Mentor the information that he had gleaned while his partner stood silent. It should have, but the activities of the previous night hung heavy over him. He could not think of besting the man without remembering the feel, the girth of his sex in his hand, of the hot breaths that spilled over his neck, or the desperate way Altaїr had moved his body against his own, and of how he received it with relish.

The Mentor nodded, stroking his white beard with a hand. "Troubling. However, what is most troubling me is the reason why you had to stay for three extra days." Instantly, Malik felt like he was a child being scolded. He was grateful that his cowl covered his healing neck. "What was the reason for this delay?"

"Our actions alerted the city guards," Altaїr stepped in when Malik did not speak. "We were known to them. The best course of action was to wait for the rumors to quiet."

Malik stole him a glance, allowing himself at least that. Was he not going to mention his injury? Perhaps the man could muster up an ounce of mercy when needed. Or perhaps the man was paying him the courtesy in exchange for not disclosing their intimate act. It had been a fleeting thought to turn in Altaїr, but the idea had been quickly thrown to the wind.

Al Mualim raised an eyebrow at Altaїr's half truth, but did not press for further information. The two Assassins were dismissed, Malik quickly turning away and stalking out of the library. He needed to be away from the other man, to give himself time to think.

He quickly descended the high hill and walked the streets below, making his way directly to his and his brother's abode. He lowered his hood and entered, letting out a decompressing sigh as the familiar sights and smells flooded to him.

Kadar stood from where he sat on the cushions beside the game board, and he was instantly before his brother, pulling him into a fierce hug.

"Welcome home, Malik," he almost chimed, his brilliant grin even making the corners of the other man's lips quirk upward.

"Good to be home, Kadar." Malik returned the embrace. The two brothers pulled away, Kadar's gaze falling instantly to the bruising and scabs around Malik's neck. His brow furrowed as he scrutinized his brother.

"You were gone longer than expected. I was told just today that you were returning. What happened to you?" Unlike the Rafiq, this was said in concern rather than scorn.

Malik sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. "Stupidity, mostly. Not on my part."

Kadar gave him a knowing look, but the way in which he said the name still carried with it a hint of admiration. "Altaїr?"

That earned him a groan. If he never heard that man's damned name again it would be too soon. "Do not speak of him. I have had to deal with too much of that man for far too long. I got caught by one of our targets, nothing more."

Knowing to not press the issue, Kadar nodded and switched the topic. "You must be tired."

"It will be nice to sleep in my own bed." Malik sat heavily on the cushions, unbuckling his boots and pulling them off with relish.

Kadar sat beside him, still looking at his brother's neck with concern. He did not voice his worry, but moved on to lighter topics. "I have told Fatima next door that you would be returning today and she made a meal for us. It is cold by now, but that is an easy matter to fix."

With both boots removed, Malik continued on to unbuckle his rank belt and weapons, setting them aside with care. "Thank you, Kadar. I promise I will be a more active participant in household duties."

His brother gave a light scoff. "You are a high rank Assassin . That duty comes before cooking meals."

Malik was taken aback by his brother's air of arrogance. It was far too familiar. "No, Kadar." The young man was startled by the insistent tone. Malik continued. "You must always keep a sense of humility. That is why we have the rank system, so we know and understand what it means to be one of the people. It grounds us, keeps us from trying to reach too lofty goals." If he could not get through to his rival, he at least could try to instruct his younger brother to stay away from his teachings. Kadar had only seen fourteen years and he was still too susceptible to the ideas that Altaїr abided by. His admiration for the Assassin did not help matters any.

Kadar allowed a scowl to pass his features. "Humility and humanity? We are Assassins. We are above these things."

Anger welled in his chest. He knew that he was still strung up about his companion on his journey and that he was taking out his frustrations on his brother, but in that moment he could not contain himself. "_No_," he began sharply. "You have been listening to Altaїr's poisonous teachings for far too long. We are mere servants of the people, working from the shadows to obtain peace."

"But we have the _skill-_"

His impudence irritated Malik to the point where he raised his voice. "_That is not all we have, Kadar_. Knowledge, cunning, and discretion are also needed in what we do."

Kadar scowled in return. "Alright, I understand."

Malik was skeptical. "Do you?"

His brother shot him his own annoyed glare, his scathing comment hitting Malik like a blow. "Maybe not now, but you certainly will see to it that I do."

Malik opened his mouth to give an angry reply, but was interrupted by an even knock on the door. Flustered, he shot a warning look at Kadar as he stood. He stalked to the door, trying his best to clear his head, not wanting to put off the visitor. Somehow, he knew that he should not have been surprised to see who stood beyond the door. As his eyes fell upon the man before him, all thoughts of calm fled his mind. Lamp light flooded his unreadable expression, scarred lips taut.

It was really the first time Malik had seen Altaїr looking so meek.

His words only reinforced that image. " Malik, I-"

Malik did not give the man time to explain himself. Altaїr had the gall to approach his door when his brother was present to talk about what had transpired between them? His tone was harsh, cold. "No, I do not want to speak with you."

Altaїr was quick to deny. "It's not-"

Again, Malik cut him off sharply. "Leave me."

The other Assassin had the tenacity to look almost hurt by his complete rejection. It almost gave him a moment's hesitation. "Malik-"

"I said _leave_," Malik growled. Without letting the man reply, he slammed the door between them. He stalked back to the cushions and sat heavily upon them, seething silently.

It was a long moment before Kadar posed a gentle question. "What has he done now?"

Malik was having none of it. He would be rid of this man, at least for the evening. "Not now, Kadar," he growled, making sure to keep himself in check.

They spoke of lighter subjects as they reheated their meal and ate. Malik retired early, claiming tiredness. In fact, he stayed up late into the night tossing and turning, thoughts of his intimate rival roiling in his mind.

* * *

The next morning Malik took his breakfast to his usual spot atop a high roof, overlooking the waking town below with the sun rising at his back. It was a strategic position, as the sun would avert the eyes of passerby. He was effectively concealed and could eat in peace. It was not uncommon for him to be pulled aside by an instructor to aid in a demonstration for the novices, and Malik would not abide by that this morning.

The last thing he wanted to do was draw a sword, practice or no. His neck and ribs were still sore enough to cause discomfort and he would not further injure himself if he could help it. In fact, he would much rather lecture the novices on how to not be idiots, but he was no scholar and such a job was up to them. Performing duties of a higher rank was a grave offence and Malik was not willing to be demoted when his rival was so far ahead of him.

As it was, when he had finished his breakfast, he headed determinedly to the library, quickly waving off the various greetings he received from his fellow Assassins. He was determined to spend the day in the quiet solitude of the library, surrounded only by books and silently working scholars.

He found an unoccupied table and set to work, opening up his notebook and reviewing the notes that he had jotted down on his journey. He took up the maps that he had been looking at before all those long days ago and poured over them once again, cross referencing them with his notes. By the time the noon bell rang, his annoyance at the discordance between them had reached a peak. After a quick break to eat, he retrieved a blank sheet of parchment and set to work, plotting landmarks and drawing the landscape upon it.

By the time he got the basic layout of the land between Masyaf and Damascus, the scholars were already lighting the evening lanterns. It was only then that he remembered that he promised Kadar that he would cook them dinner. He left the library earlier than he had originally planned, heading to the market before the vendors packed up for the night.

The two brothers did not return to their argument from the night before as they ate. Malik was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief. He needed an evening away from confrontation. His good fortune proved to be persistent as he was not visited by his rival that evening.

The next day preceded much as the last. It took until the afternoon for Malik to finish drawing the map. It was not nearly as detailed as he wanted it and he did not trust the other maps' accuracy to transcribe more information from those. He arrived at a conclusion and decided to take action, the thought of rising in the ranks of the Assassins only briefly flashing through his thoughts. His plan would certainly make the Mentor look at him as more than just a ninth rank Assassin, but that was not the reason why he was going out of his way. It was to improve the Brotherhood, to aid it in every way he could.

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**End Notes: **I realized yesterday as I was writing chapter 14 that I haven't even gotten to the first time jump yet. This fic is going to be a freaking monster. _This was supposed to be a short fic_. Oh well. I'm having way too much fun with it, and I hope you are too!

Next time on Silent Discourse: Malik spirals into a desperate scrabble for information! Stay tuned for next week's chapter: Abjection in Analysis!


	11. Abjection in Analysis

Chapter 11: Abjection in Analysis

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He ascended the staircase to Al Mualim's study, finding the old man writing at his desk.

"Mentor," he greeted and bowed his head in respect.

The man looked up from his writing, setting his quill aside and giving the Assassin his full attention. "Malik, what brings you here?"

"I have been studying the maps we have here of the Kingdom and of the cities and I have found that they are inconsistent and outdated." The Mentor looked intrigued and Malik continued. "On my last mission I took notes on the positions of the guard outposts and since I have returned I placed them on a new map." He produced the large scroll of parchment and offered it to the Mentor. He took it and unrolled it, his good eye scanning the delicate ink marks. "This is the best I could do with so little information but-"

"You drew this?" Al Mualim cut the Assassin off, looking over the map.

Malik nodded, continuing on with his idea. "It is not detailed enough yet to be used for specific missions, but if we gathered more current information we could expand upon it. If the road to Damascus has changed so much, I am sure the same can be said for Acre and Jerusalem."

Al Mualim looked up from the map, his good eye glowing with pride for the young Assassin. "What do you propose?"

This gave Malik pause. He had expected the man to cordially thank him for his efforts and send him away or to send him on a mission to gather the information himself. He continued on with the plan that he had thought up, his chest swelling as he spoke, allowing himself to take pride in his plan. "We could send second and third rank Assassins to gather information. They would need to be instructed in how to write down the coordinates of landmarks and landscape."

A smile of satisfaction crossed the old man's bearded face as he looked upon the Assassin. "You have done well to find this need. We have not had a scholar who specialized in cartography in many years."

Malik nodded, remembering the frail ghost of a man who had taught him how to read and draw maps during his studies. "Rajab was a respectable teacher."

That single eye gaze fell upon him searchingly, sizing him up. "You are a gifted man in using your mind. I do wonder if you were able to teach Altaїr your ways of discretion while on your mission."

Malik had to force himself to keep from grimacing at the sound of the man's name. "I may not have succeeded in teaching him, but I was able to contain some of his non-discretion after a few trials. He does not make it easy."

That brought a smile to Al Mualim's bearded cheeks. "I have been his Mentor for eleven years and even I could not break him from that habit. Your perseverance should be praised. Tell me Malik, have you thought of putting your mind to better use, to become an instructor and then a scholar and pass on your wisdom to the students and tomes in this library?"

Malik had been waiting to be approached about this. It was true that he had skills outside those of action and infiltration, but he would not be fulfilled if he gave up on that after so long of honing his skills, trying to surpass his rival. He shook his head in answer. "I wish to be active in the field for as long as I am able."

Al Mualim nodded, but Malik could see a flash of disappointment in his eye. "Your father decided upon the same when I offered it to him in his younger years." He smiled fondly, falling into a melancholic silence. Malik retrieved his map from where it lay on the table and rolled it slowly. The Mentor in turn sat back at his desk with his quill. As the Assassin turned to leave, the old man caught his attention once again. "I will send word to the instructors to seek out low rank Assassins with a talent for mathematics and observation. I will send them to you to instruct."

"It would be an honor," Malik replied, bowing his head and taking his leave.

He sat at his claimed desk once again, eyes glossing over the maps there, his mind on everything but the charts. He could not be a scholar. He could never be an instructor. Carrying out assassination contracts was by far the noblest thing he could do. It was what Altaїr did. It was what his father did before becoming a Master Assassin. Agility, discretion, infiltration, death; these were what Malik strove to perfect. He would attain the title and he was determined to do so before his damned rival.

His rival. His _intimate_ rival. Malik could not ignore the shiver that ran down his spine all the way to his toes as he thought of the man. Thus far, he had been able to preoccupy his mind with his work. Now that there was a lull, the thoughts flooded back.

Uncertainty, anxiousness, and a hint of fear hit him like a blow to the chest. The disgust he had felt before had all but dissipated as he thought back on the event as he lay awake at night. Sure, he had been told that it was unnatural, but it certainly had not felt so. It had been rushed, it had been harsh, but nothing ever felt truly _wrong_. He had called it wrong, but his words did not reflect his thoughts.

Curiosity overwhelmed Malik as he sat surrounded by tomes of knowledge. Surely one of the books or scrolls had something written about the laws of sodomy within the Brotherhood. He stood and searched the vast shelves for tomes describing the intricacies of the Creed, of the laws of the land laid down by long dead men.

By evening fall his laboring had produced no fruit. Struck down but not defeated, he returned the next morning and began again. The volumes he found held information closer to what he was seeking, but none truly answered his question.

He lived all of his life by the Creed. It was only right to make sure that all of his actions stayed true to that conviction.

His searching was interrupted, however, when he sensed a presence behind him. He turned and found a robed instructor and two youths no older than thirteen standing just behind him. They were almost of an age with Kadar, but judging by their dress they were of a lower rank.

Malik glanced over the pair. "Are these who I will be instructing in the basics of cartography?"

The instructor nodded. "This is Tariq and Naji. They have both shown considerable talent in the skills required for such a job that you requested. They will study under you until you determine their knowledge sufficient enough to send them out."

Malik nodded and the instructor excused himself, leaving the two youths and the Assassin to themselves. Malik pulled a deep breath and stood, closing the book he had open. His own personal studies would have to wait. "Tariq and Naji, I assume you were told why you were sent to me. To be clear, I will be instructing you on how to properly take notes on the locations of landmarks and terrain." The two youths nodded. Malik could sense that they were intimidated by his severe way he held himself, as they remained still and silent. "Do you have any questions before we begin?"

The taller of the two stepped forward. "Master Malik, I-"

"I am not a Master," Malik cut him off, though not as sharply as he could. The two were intimidated enough as it was. Perhaps it was the yellowing bruising around his neck or the healing scabs. "Sorry, which one are you?"

"Tariq, Mas- Malik," he quickly corrected himself. "I was going to ask how long you will be instructing us."

Malik nodded at the correction. "The calculations are simple enough, but you will need to practice them to ensure their accuracy. Have either of you been taught how to properly read a map?" The pair nodded and Malik held in a sigh of relief. At least he did not have to go back to the very basics. "Very well. Let us begin."

He started the two young Assassins off by having them read the basic theory of cartography in a tome. As they were reading, Malik continued his own studying. As the afternoon came, the two youths dismissed themselves to attend their other studies. At this point, Malik threw himself wholly into his own research, the thought of Altaїr hanging heavy in his thoughts.

As the days wore on, the desperate need to come to a conclusion about the man reached a feverous peak. Before he knew it, a week had passed since he began instructing the young Assassins in the art of charting and plotting points on a map. Teaching them was taking valuable time away from his own personal studies and as each day passed, his desire grew.

He was unsure if it was the man he wanted or just the act of intimacy itself. He had barely brushed the surface of those deep waters and all he knew was that he wished to dive into those depths, drowning in whatever he found there.

A week was not a long time to work with apprentices, but the two young Assassins had learned fast and had grown a respect for their mentor. In turn, Malik had developed a fondness for his pupils. He was expecting them to be as resilient and strong headed as Altaїr, but the opposite proved to be true. They were receptive to his critiques and followed his instructions with care.

It was not long before they went out into the town of Masyaf and practiced the skills that they had been developing. Up until then, Malik had been actively avoiding venturing into the village during the day, knowing that was where his rival often wandered. To aid his students in their learning, he would have to break out of that habit and face the possibility of seeing the man who had been haunting his every waking thought.

He stationed his students at a vantage point just at the base of the pathway up to the fortress and set them to work marking positions of various landmarks. Malik scanned the passerby, allowing his mind to wander. It inevitably came to thoughts of his rival.

As if on cue, a white robed man appeared to dissolve out of the crowd of townsfolk just down the road. Malik's breath caught in his chest upon seeing his rival, his hood pulled over his head as usual, hitching travel packs over his shoulder. As if sensing Malik's burning gaze, he turned and their eyes met. Altaїr's expression was unreadable as Malik looked on, the world around him darkening until all he saw was the man. He felt his legs take a daring step forward without his leave. He was unsure what he would do if he ever reached the man.

Thankfully, he would never find out.

"Malik, can you check this calculation?" The moment was lost as Malik turned to his student beside him, broken out of his reverie. He looked at Naji's scratchy work and nodded, turning back to seek out Altaїr once again.

The man was gone, dissolved into the crowd. Malik let out the breath that he did not know he had been holding. His chest ached with the strain, with emotions that he refused to put a name to.

Altaїr had been departing on a mission, that much was clear. Malik would not have to fear running into him in the days to come, but now that he had set eyes on the man, he was not sure he wanted to avoid him further.

It took all of his restraint to keep himself from abandoning his students and either retreating to the depths of the library to continue his research, or to find the nearest horse and take off after the other Assassin. Instead he planted his feet firmly in the compacted dirt, looking over the shoulder of his pupils at their work.

The days dragged on, Malik's disquiet becoming more and more unbearable. On the sixth day after Altaїr's departure, he finally gave in. Not halfway into his teachings of the day he dismissed the young Assassins, who gladly went about their own business. He stole into the library, looking through the ancient tomes with a renewed fervor.

His table was covered with books, half-read and spread open. He was skimming the text of another when a soft voice behind him shocked him back into reality.

"It is not punishable within the walls of Masyaf, Malik, though it is not highly looked upon."

Malik lurched around, slamming the book shut as he did so. A vaguely familiar face under a white hood grinned gently down at him. It had only been a matter of time before one of the scholars noticed just what he was researching. Malik was almost too quick in his response. "I don't know what you are talking about."

The scholar's grin dropped and he stared down at the man, now far too serious for Malik's liking. "Outside of the Brotherhood, it is punishable by death. But as you say, I do not know what you are talking about."

Malik narrowed his gaze as he returned the serious stare. "How do you know this? Where it is written?"

The scholar shook his head. "It is not written. It is known by those of us who need to know. Calm your searching, you will not find it." With that, the scholar bowed away, disappearing around a tall bookshelf and leaving Malik to his own ponderings.

* * *

**End Notes:** Did I fail to mention that I quite enjoy tormenting my characters?

Hey so peeps, you should tell me what you think so far! Like, review and stuff. Yeah!


	12. Temerity in Touch

Chapter 12: Temerity in Touch

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Once again, go to my profile for the link to the full, unabridged chapter because I am a good person and won't put smut on here.

* * *

Two more days passed until he heard a word about the other Assassin. Malik was passing through town after dismissing his apprentices for the day when he happened by two guards exchanging information before taking the other's place. He heard a certain man's name pass by the lips of the guard being relieved and made a bee line towards the two.

They inclined their heads as he approached - a sign of respect for his higher rank. "You spoke of Altaїr just now?" He asked the first man, keeping his tone even, though his heart was hammering loud enough to almost muffle his ears.

The man nodded. "I saw him go up the hill to the fortress not an hour ago."

Malik immediately turned in that direction, not waiting to bid farewell to the guards or to even thank the man for his assistance. He had one thought on his mind: seek out that damned man. What he would do when he found him was beyond his realm of thought. He just needed to set eyes on him. It had been far too long since he had stared into those amber eyes.

Suddenly, his chest constricted as another thought entered his mind. What if this was all just in his head? That one thought opened up the flood of questions. What if he would go back to hating the man once he saw his smug grin? What if Altaїr had lost all interest in him? What if that last night of their journey had been a one-time event?

Malik shook the thoughts away, coming back to himself. Altaїr was one to become fixated on a single thing. He was just cocky enough to continue his pursuit of Malik, he was sure. As he reached the library, he scanned the courtyard for the hooded man. There were many Assassins hard at work, sparring and tossing knives at straw men. The din of metal clashing and shouts of effort did nothing to distract Malik. In a forest of hooded men, he did not see the one he was so desperately looking for. He entered the library, climbing the steps to the Mentor's study.

Perhaps the Assassin was still talking with Al Mualim? That question was soon answered when Malik looked to see the old man sitting alone at his desk, the only man in the vicinity a white robed scholar. Malik let out a frustrated sigh and quickly exited the library.

It was a mad search, he knew. Altaїr could be anywhere. It was not like Masyaf was particularly large, but there certainly were far too many places that the man could have disappeared to. Contrary to his own belief, Malik did not know exactly where all of Altaїr's usual haunts were.

In the end, Malik found his way back to his own house, frustrated and defeated. He spent the remainder of the day at the chess board mostly staring blindly at it, still as a statue while his mind raged on. He did not know exactly what it was he was feeling. All he knew was a deep lust that screamed to be sated seethed in his chest.

Even Kadar was unable to get through to him and soon gave up trying to get his brother to tell him exactly what was on his mind.

It was well past sunset when Malik finally caved in. If he had stayed awake in his bed ruminating over the damned man for any longer he would have lost a large portion of his sanity. With the utmost stealth, he pulled on his boots and stole out of his house, sneaking silently through the shadows cast by the bright moon. It was a simple feat to pass unseen by the guards. Soon, he was on the doorstep of Altaїr's residence. It only occurred to Malik after he had silently picked the lock and eased the door open that he had never set foot in his rival's home before.

He glanced about, taking in the sight. He was struck by a scent that was uniquely Altaїr, a sort of spice mixed with worn leather and blade polishing oil. The furnishings were simple, the cushions not as decorated as the ones in Malik's own house. It was also much tidier than he was expecting and quite a bit smaller. Malik knew that after Umar was killed, Altaїr had lived within the walls of the fortress of Masyaf. It was not long after he reached adulthood that he sought out residence in the town. In fact, it had occurred just after he had been released from his short prison sentence after his well-known fight with Abbas. They had roomed together, Malik recalled. It was no wonder that Altaїr had wanted to seek a residence away from the young man.

Malik stepped lightly over the carpets covering the main room, past the hearth and to the back room, separated only by a simple curtain. He stood before the doorway, knowing if he hesitated now he would never be able to force himself to continue. In one silent motion, he swept past the cloth and his gaze fell upon the sleeping Assassin. Altaїr was sprawled out on a simple hay stuffed mattress. The man's untidy position brought a grin to Malik's cheeks, but immediately his stomach dropped.

Now what? If he woke him, the man was just going to laugh at his desperation.

He stepped silently to the man's side and stared down at the serious expression he wore even in sleep. The moonlight from the single open window fell across the man's face, illuminating his sleep-mussed hair. Malik leaned forward just slightly, studying his features, his desire for the man only growing.

One moment, he was fast asleep and the next those amber eyes were open and blazing. Before Malik could speak or even think to move, his legs were swept out from under him and he fell backwards to the carpeted floor. He gasped as the breath was knocked from his lungs and was barely able to catch the wrist that held a knife to his throat, his body pinned by the suddenly awoken Assassin.

"Wait-" he managed to choke, struggling to keep the blade from his skin. Malik was suddenly regretting his decision to visit in the dead of night.

Realization and recognition flashed in the dangerous amber eyes above him. "Malik?"

Malik scowled up at him. "Safety and peace, Altaїr." His tone dripped with annoyance. A smirk passed by Altaїr's lips. The dagger disappeared from the man's grasp, but Altaїr made no move to let the other assassin up. Malik's scowl deepened at the cocky smirk. "If this is how you treat all of your guests, I understand why people avoid you."

The quip did nothing to deter the man pinning him to the ground. "There are only two reasons why someone steals into another's bedroom in the dead of night. The first is sinister, and the second-"

Not letting him finish that sentence, Malik shoved Altaїr off of him. The action was allowed and Malik stood, flustered and fidgeting. He stole a glance back at Altaїr, who simply gazed smugly back at him from his place on the floor. Malik sighed. "Forget it."

He turned, fully intending to stalk away and never enter the man's home again. As he took the first step, gentle but firm hands grasped him about his waist.

"It is the latter, is it not?" The soft, sensuous question whispered behind his ear, sending a chill down Malik's neck. He froze, relishing in the warmth of Altaїr's body so close to his, at the heat of the man's hands seeping through the fabric of his bedclothes. He could hear the man's cocksure smirk in his words. "I knew it would only be a matter of time until-"

Again not allowing the man to finish, Malik spun in his grasp, fiery eyes burning holes into those amber eyes, so full of mischief. "Be silent," he growled, the words so reluctant but not wanting for lust. "For once, just-" he grasped Altaїr by the shoulders, his fingers digging into the rough spun fabric of his night shirt, "-just stop talking." He brought their faces close, but stopped before their lips could meet.

Altaїr never followed orders and this was no exception. He tilted his head to the side, leaning forward enticingly as he spoke. "What about this 'sodomy' that you were so afraid of?"

Malik's breath caught in his throat, the desire to have the man almost overwhelming his restraint. "It seems that Masyaf is free from the laws prohibiting it, at least in the Brotherhood. Now _shut up_." He shoved Altaїr backward, the man coming to sit upon his own mattress with a bemused smirk spread across his face. Malik hastily pulled his own robe over his head, tossing it aside and looking at Altaїr expectantly. "Well?"

Altaїr still smirked up at him. Malik had half a thought to bodily force himself upon the man, but all pretenses were thrown to the wind as the other man hooked his fingers just under the hem of his pants. A flash of desire crossed those amber eyes as he pulled Malik closer. Malik let out a deep sigh as those strong hands pressed against his flesh, wandering his muscled torso. Light, lingering kisses came next, lips pressed hungrily on his olive skin, over the thin line of hair trailing down to his crotch. He had just shaven his face after his mission and the smooth skin sent chills down Malik's spine, heat pooling in his groin. Malik stared down at Altaїr's soft ministrations in a lust-hazed wonder. He had half expected the man to just have his way with him, as what happened on the road to Masyaf.

The man was always full of surprises and this was no exception. He seemed to be relishing in this moment. Malik would have made a snarky comment, but his voice was silenced before it began as those devious hands circled his hips, reaching further and taking a firm hold of his ass. Teeth were now scraping at his abs, replaced by harsh kisses.

Encouraging the developments, Malik ran his fingers through Altaїr's short hair, continuing down his neck, over his shoulder blades, the loose nightshirt he wore giving way to his adventurous touch.

In one swift move, Altaїr caught Malik off balance and pulled him to fall backwards onto the mattress. Climbing back, Altaїr pulled the boots off of Malik's feet, dropping them heavily to the floor. Malik sat up only to be pressed back by an insisting hand as Altaїr came to straddle his legs. Altaїr pulled his shirt off in one swift motion, tossing it carelessly to the side. Met with the reveal of that gloriously muscled torso, Malik could do nothing to stop himself from reaching for it, palms exploring the light olive skin dappled with scars. He was so entranced that it took him a long moment to notice Altair staring down at him, regarding him with a bemused grin. Malik let his hand fall away, glaring back up at the man. Altaїr's sly grin only broadened, hands smoothing down Malik's chest, fingers working slowly at unlacing his pants.

Malik caught his breath, unconsciously undulating under the man, pressing his hips into the light touch. His laces were pulled loose, but then the touch was removed. Malik grunted in annoyance, looking up as Altaїr looked smugly down at him.

Desiring much more than what Altaїr was giving him at that moment, Malik turned the tides. In a feat, he flipped him onto his back after an initial playful struggle put up by the man. Malik prevailed and set to work, placing hungry kisses on the man's chest, hastily working his way down, hands already hard at work with his pant lacings. He craved more of the man, drinking in the heavy breaths that he was eliciting.

* * *

Check my profile for the complete chapter if you so desire!

* * *

Slowly, their breathing calmed, but they remained with their limbs entwined. Malik had a thought to remove himself, suddenly wary of his actions and their implications once again. As he started to press the other man away, Altaїr held him tight and stilled the action.

"Not this time. This time you stay." There was no room for argument in Altaїr's insisting tone.

Malik sighed and gave in. His muscles were loose from the exertion and intense pleasure and he most likely would have had trouble standing if he had left the embrace. Altaїr began planting soft kisses on his shoulder - an almost possessive action. Malik smirked at a thought. "If I did not know better, I would think that you have wanted to do this for much longer than I know." It was only half a joke.

Altaїr's voice was soft. Whether that was because of his post-sex bliss or from the touchiness of the question, Malik did not know. "Maybe you do not know better."

Malik pried further. "How long, then?" As if to silence him, Altaїr pressed his lips to Malik's and they were lost in the intertwining of lip and tongue.

As they pulled apart, Malik found himself breathless once again. He had received his answer. "Much longer than I know." Altaїr simply rested his head beside Malik's, remaining silent. They lay in silence for a while in their sprawling embrace.

Malik had figured Altaїr had fallen asleep, but was proved wrong as the man spoke softly to him, not moving to release him from his comforting and oddly possessive hold. "I thought you were going to report me to Al Mualim." His voice was deep with satisfaction and fatigue. Malik was reminded that he had just returned from a week long mission and felt a touch of guilt at taking away from the man's rest.

"It is not against our Creed; I have found out that much. Regardless, I am as much an offender as you," Malik replied just as lowly, his tone softer than anything he had used towards his partner to date. "I would have turned myself in at the same time if I had spoken."

"You are very apt at placing blame on me. You would have found a way."

"I find a way because you are usually the one at fault." He shoved the man playfully, a smirk coming unbidden to his lips. Altaїr caught his wrist, pinning it above his head, really looking into Malik's eyes for the first time since their feat of passion.

There was a smile in those amber eyes that did not reach his mouth. "Only in your eyes, perhaps."

Malik stared up at him. "Perhaps."

With that the two Assassins were lost in each other once again.

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**End Notes:** Have I failed to mention that I have a headcanon that Altair clutches at whatever he can when he sleeps? Yeah. I love that asshole.

Thank you for all of your lovely feedback! It helps give me inspiration!

Stay tuned for next week's exciting chapter, Rise in Rank!


	13. Rise in Rank

Chapter 13: Rise in Rank

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The morning came far too soon, Malik reluctantly waking just as the first hint of light spread across the dark sky, revealed through the uncovered window. He found himself with his back turned on his intimate partner, a possessive arm holding him close to the other man's bare chest. It would seem that the man clutched at whatever he could while he slept. It would at least explain the man clutching his leg that night in the Bureau on their mission. Malik had never been one to cuddle, but he was willing to allow this endearing action.

Malik found himself thinking upon his duties of the day and longed to stay in the embrace, but he knew he had to depart to begin his morning. Malik tried to pull himself away but the arm around his chest clutched him tighter. When he tried to pull the arm away, he felt the man stir behind him.

Altaїr's voice was thick with sleep, the annoyance perhaps softer than it would have been if he had not just woken. "Must you wake at this hour?"

Malik rolled his eyes, unseen by the other man. "Unlike you, I have other duties to attend."

"What could possibly be done before sunrise?"

The arm was still unrelenting in its hold on Malik. "Going home before Kadar wakes to find me returning in my nightclothes, for one. I also have early lessons with my students."

Altaїr scoffed. "Students? What, are you a scholar now? I was only gone for eight days."

If Malik ever had a doubt as to Altaїr's thoughts on the lower rank of scholars and the superiority of field Assassins, that statement cleared it up. "I am only teaching them the basics of cartography."

Altaїr made a grunt that sounded like "maps," still making no move to release Malik.

He tried to pull away but was still held fast by the drowsy Assassin. "Altaїr," he said lowly in warning. At that, the man sighed and retracted his arm, folding it under his head and watching as Malik stood. Grabbing his discarded clothing from the floor, Malik began dressing. As he was lacing his pants, he stole a glance at his intimate partner, who was watching on with an amused, aroused look. Malik ignored this and smoothed his nightshirt before sloppily pulling on his boots, not bothering to buckle them.

As Malik turned to leave, Altair called out to him. "Good luck sneaking back to your house. Kadar has keen ears."

Malik turned with a smirk. "I do not need luck for that, only skill." At that, Altaїr laid his head back with an amused grin, waving the man away.

* * *

"You are sending us out to test us already?" Tariq stared dubiously at his teacher, always the one to catch subtle changes in one's demeanor or tone. A good skill for an Assassin to have in infiltrating and discreetly collecting information. He had noticed a change in Malik that morning, his prying questions coming one after the other. "Just yesterday you said we needed weeks more training." The three of them, teacher and two pupils, stood in their usual spot in the back of the library. The usual bright morning light was hazy with the promise of rain. Winter truly was on their doorstep.

Malik held back a wince. He had been growing rather frustrated at everything in the days past and perhaps he had been taking it out on his students too much. His mind was light with satisfied desire rather than heavy with plaguing thoughts of wanton lust. This was the change that Tariq had noticed the instant they met up for their daily lessons.

"I have re-evaluated your progress, both of you," he also addressed Naji, always the quiet one, "and I have been more than satisfied with your work so far. You have successfully plotted the accurate coordinates of the Masyaf landmarks in the past few days. The final test to prove your competency will be to venture beyond these walls. There are five scout towers positioned in the mountains surrounding here. Find them and mark their positions. Bring them back to me and I will decide if you are ready to go out into the field."

A look of dismay came over Tariq and he gave a brief glance at the darkening sky. "It is going to rain soon. Must we start our test now?"

No amount of morning after bliss could stop Malik's severity as a teacher on matters such as these. He would not abide by laziness and reluctance. His tone was firm and commanding and the two young Assassins appeared to shrink away as he spoke. "Does the Brotherhood stop their missions when there is a little rain? Do the Templars stop their plight when winter comes? As long as the sun keeps rising and falling, we continue our mission, through rain and snow, mud and sleet. If you are afraid of the wet, you will never survive in a grand battle with blood raining down on you from your enemies and your brothers. You had best get used to the rain; it is the least of your worries."

That made the two young Assassins silent for a long moment, eyes wide. Malik envied their innocence but knew it was dangerous for them to not know how truly bloody their feud with the Templars was, especially if they were to go far beyond the protective walls of Masyaf.

Naji was the one to speak up first, his voice soft and careful. "Have you been in a battle like that?"

Malik took a slow, steadying breath. This was a lesson they needed to know well. "I was younger than you when Salah Al'din's army laid siege to Masyaf. I saw the carnage, though I was too young to fight. My father made sure to show me the consequences of a battle. I looked on as his friend, Master Umar Ibn-La'Ahad was beheaded for killing the wrong man. I saw the corpses of men who I knew beside the corpses of our enemy. I heard the screams of dying men and I could not tell if they were friend or foe. There is nothing glorious about men killing other men. It is dirty but necessary work. It is naïve to think that you will never see that kind of bloodshed; it is inevitable when you are in the Brotherhood. So think on this when you are slogging through the mud and snow, because it could and will be worse. It could be the blood of your brothers, and it inevitably will be the blood of your brothers."

Naji stood with his jaw open, fear openly displayed in his innocent brown eyes. "Is there no hope?"

Malik released a sigh and rubbed a hand down his face, scratching at the short scruff of hair at the end of his chin. He thought upon this for a long moment before responding. "We fight for peace. That is always worth the bloodshed." He sighed again and waved the two Assassins on. "Think upon this as you go out today. Be thankful that it is only rain."

The two youths left Malik in a contemplative silence, clutching their notebooks close to their chests to keep them from the wet. Malik simply stood where he was, eventually leaning on the back of a chair, lost in deep thought.

"Those are wise words for someone so young."

Malik jumped at the familiar voice, straightening and bowing his head hastily as Al Mualim stepped around a bookshelf, a twinkle in his good eye.

"Mentor," Malik greeted him. "I know it was not my place to lecture them, my still being a trainee in the Brotherhood."

Al Mualim still looked at him with that oddly appraising expression. "You show a dedication to the tenants of our Creed not seen in many of our brothers. Not only that, but you have an understanding of them."

This caught Malik off guard. He had expected to be put into his place, for taking on the role of a scholar, many ranks above his own, when he was only to teach his students cartography. He recovered quickly. "I do what I can, Mentor."

He nodded at this, clasping his hands behind his back and stepping closer to the younger man. "Your recent actions have deemed you worthy enough to be promoted beyond the rank of a trainee and accepted as a full Assassin." Malik's heart rose into his throat and he could feel it beating there. "Would you accept the responsibilities of this rank?"

His legs felt weak and he had to swallow a few times before attempting to speak. "Of course, Mentor," was all he could manage.

Al Mualim nodded, a small grin of satisfaction spreading to his bearded cheeks. "Very well. I will assemble and inform the Brotherhood . A ceremony will be held on the morrow."

Malik bowed deeply, eyes still wide with the shock of it all. "It will be an honor, Mentor. Thank you." With that, the Grand Master took his leave, allowing Malik the peace of the silent library to stew over this reveal. He did not stay there for long, needing to breathe the fresh air, heavy with the scent of newly fallen rain on dusty ground.

He found himself standing in the courtyard, staring into the dark sky, large drops falling onto his uncovered face. He barely felt them, barely heard the noisy trainee Assassins give shouts of both joy and dismay at the first rain of the season.

He knew not how long he stood there until there was a hand at his shoulder. Broken from his reverie, he turned to find his brother's concerned face looking up at him.

"Malik, you look like a man who has just seen Allah," Kadar spoke to him insistently. He held a wooden practice sword in one hand, clearly fresh from a sparring match. The other trainees had broken from their sparring and were reveling in the new rain, giving his young brother a chance to break away.

A wide grin spread unbidden to Malik's cheeks as he turned to his brother. "Al Mualim is promoting me to a full Assassin." Kadar practically beamed at him. "The ceremony is tomorrow," Malik continued.

"That is great news, Malik," Kadar chimed, wiping sweat and rain from his brow. There was a sharp shout from the sparring instructor to the distracted trainees to get back to work. Kadar jumped, racing back down to the field with a quick apology to his brother.

Coming back into himself, Malik pulled his hood up against the rain and made his way down the steep hill, not knowing exactly where he was going or why. He simply walked through the steadily falling rain, catching glances from townsfolk rushing to get out of the weather amongst children cheering and rushing to get in it. Feeling the water begin to soak through his cowl, he ducked under an empty market stall set against a wall, the overhanging cloth not yet dripping. Leaning against the wall, he allowed a small grin to cross his cheeks as he saw the children run through the rain, dancing in the shallow puddles already forming. Their shrieks of joy echoed dully in the courtyard.

"Given your students the day off?" The voice beside his ear did not make Malik jump. He was far too familiar with the man by now to not expect him at any given moment. How exactly he was found was another matter entirely. Malik was certain it had something to do with his so-called Eagle Vision.

Malik turned to Altaїr, who too leaned against the wall out of the rain, a crooked smirk on his scarred lips. Malik scoffed at his question. "Have you ever known me to be so lenient? They are collecting data outside Masyaf."

In one motion, Altaїr swept close, his body almost touching the other man, his mouth just beside Malik's ear. The intimacy of the closeness was not lost upon Malik. Altaїr's voice was low and teasing. "Just because your students are out in the rain does not mean that you have to be."

Malik placed a hand to the other man's shoulder, pressing him away. His eyes deceived him however, staring lustily at the other man. Malik whole heartedly ignored the suggesting comment and side stepped it entirely. "It seems like so long ago that we ran out into the first rain of the season." He glanced over at the children, running circles around each other in glee.

The other man shook his head slightly. "I have never liked the rain. It obscures the vision, makes the roads treacherous and rooftops slick."

That brought a quirk to Malik's lips. "I was just lecturing my students on why they should not complain of the rain. It would be lost on you, I know."

Altaїr drew himself closer once again. "What makes you think that?"

Malik gritted his teeth. There it was - that arrogance. He should have known that it would only get worse if he allowed the man to be his intimate partner. It was no less frustrating than it had been before. But now there was an edge of desire that all at once infuriated and satisfied Malik.

The hand that was still on Altaїr's shoulder gripped a handful of his damp cowl, shaking him a bit. Malik's tone was low and held certain sharpness. "Because you _never_ listen."

The smirk dropped from Altaїr's face, noting the sudden change in the other man. He placed a hand on the fist bunched in his clothing, the other wrapping around Malik's waist, pulling him close all in one fluid motion. "Perhaps not to you."

"Someday you will."

"Only when you are my equal, and you are far from that."

Anger flashed through Malik's mind and he turned the two of them, pinning Altaїr none too gently against the wall. "Not as far as you think." Their faces were close and it only took a small lurch forward for Altaїr to connect their lips. The harsh exchange was short lived, however. The distinct sound of quickly approaching feet squelching through shallow mud forced the two apart.

They simultaneously looked to find a young Novice approaching, the hood pulled over his head heavy and dripping with rain. He stopped in front of the pair and caught his breath for a moment before addressing them. "Altaїr?" The man silently stepped forward as he was addressed. "Al Mualim requests your presence in his study."

Altaїr sighed at this news. "Another mission? I just got back from my last one yesterday."

The young man shook his head. "It is not a mission. He is assembling the Brotherhood for a meeting."

Malik could see Altaїr stiffen. He could not see the man's expression due to his obscuring hood, but he could only imagine his severe, worried brow. "Is something wrong?"

The Assassin relaxed the instant the Novice shook his head. "I don't know anything other than that, though, just that the Mentor is gathering the Brotherhood."

Altaїr sighed. "Very well. I will be there shortly." With a brief glance towards Malik, Altaїr disappeared in the direction of the library, the solitary white figure dissolving into the gray rain.

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End Notes: I thought a little back story was needed in this chapter, just to see where Malik was coming from and perhaps to understand why he is so cautious and respectful of the Creed. Good ol' Faheem, being the best macabre medieval tour guide for his impressionable young son.  
Stay tuned for next week's steamy installment, Chapter 14: Spice in Smoke!


	14. Spice in Smoke

So there is yet another scene omitted from this version that you can read over at my AO3! Link is at the top of my profile page. Go read the smut there if you dare want to venture into those lustful waters.

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Chapter 14: Spice in Smoke

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Haze hung heavy around a solitary figure, cloaked in the shadow of his calm, sheltering abode. Warm, thin smoke filled his lungs, the taste of the blend of spices filling his nose and mouth. Malik exhaled deeply, filling the air around him with the sweet smoke and allowing the tension that had built up over the weeks melt away. He sat alone amongst the deep cushions in the main room of his home, feet pressed together in a meditative position. He took another deep draw from the long stemmed pipe in his hand, allowing the smoke to fill him once again. The heavy rain danced on the roof overhead, creating a rhythmic thrum through the hazy room.

It had been far too long since he had allowed himself to unwind and simply be lost in deep meditation. He had been so caught up in his own ruminating thoughts over the past weeks that he had all but forgotten his regular need to relax and clear his mind. Everyone around him had suffered for it, had born against his increasing irritability and sharpness. He was normally curt and straightforward but he had taken a turn for the worse ever since he and Altaїr had left on their journey. It was far beyond time for him to gather his foul thoughts and dispose of them. The blend of tobacco, herbs and spices packed into the end of his pipe aided in his deep breathing, sending him deeper into his relaxation.

Malik pressed all thoughts of the Brotherhood from his mind. The thrill of his promotion the next day abided slowly, followed by his lustful thoughts towards his rival-turned lover. He closed his eyes to the world, to the hazy interior of his home. He stepped deeper into his subconscious, losing sense of his own body and focusing on the deep sensations that dwelled beyond physical sensations. He felt his mind walk deeper into the warm, comforting darkness and he lost himself in the void.

Far off it seemed he heard a door open and close. The small place in his mind that was still aware signed it off as his brother returning home. Kadar knew to not disturb his brother when he was so deep in his meditation, so Malik easily slipped back under knowing that he would be unperturbed.

It was rare that he found himself feeling safe enough to delve so deep into his trance. It was only when he was in the safety of his own home that he could drop his defenses so. Even then, he kept a small part of himself aware of his surroundings. Every Assassin grew up with one ear open to danger in whatever they did, be it during a mission, in sleep, while relaxing, or even in an intimate moment. Danger was just a part of their lives as was any of these and they were taught to always be wary of its presence. Even in his own home, Malik still held that understanding, but he was secure enough to be on a quite low level of alertness.

He had no sense of time as he meditated. The next he was disturbed could have been after hours or mere moments. Something both soft and insistent pressed to his lips. Instinctually, he opened his mouth and a flood of warm, sweet smoke was exhaled past his lips. He took the breath in deeply, slowly drawing himself from his trance. He exhaled through his nose, his lips still engaged. There was a hand at the back of his neck, pulling him close. Awareness was flooding back now and he found himself leaning forward and actively participating in the gentle exchange of lip and tongue.

Only when the touch was removed did he open his eyes, knowing full well who had drawn him from his meditation. The meeting announcing his ascension into the Brotherhood must have come to a close.

Those amber eyes flashed mischievously before him, the man's voice low. "I believe congratulations are in order."

"No thanks to you," Malik breathed, unable to tear his gaze away from those peering eyes. His voice was raspy from smoke and thick from being so deep into his own mind. Altaїr was crouched before him, his hand still cupping behind his neck. In a liquid motion, barely detectable, he pressed Malik back into the large cushions propped up just behind him, climbing over him and positioning himself possessively over Malik. Malik looked up; his mind still slow from being in such a deep trance. He looked on as Altaїr took the still lit pipe from his hand and took a deep draw. Those lips were at his once again, tongue pressing for entrance. Malik allowed this and again breathed in as Altaїr exhaled, the warm sweet spice filling his senses. Taking in the man's breath was oddly erotic and he relished in this new level of intimacy. Their lips separated in a gush of white wisps of smoke, curling between them like an ethereal dancing curtain.

The man had removed his rain sodden cowl and Malik took the rare opportunity to run lazy fingers through his short, messy hair. A hand trailed down Malik's chest, over the wide belt that he had not removed, and over the cloth covering his loins.

Now quite aware of the sensations of his body, Malik bit his lip and reluctantly took a hold of Altaїr's wandering hand and stilled his kneading motions. "Not here."

Altaїr bent down close, lips almost touching his. "Kadar is still in the training field."

Mind now foggy with something other than meditation, Malik had to stop himself from pulling the man closer. "My students-"

The voice that came next was deep with lust, the breath warm and still smelling of cloves from the pipe. It stirred something deep in Malik's chest and he felt heat pool in his lower abdomen. "It is barely past midday. If they are working to your standards, they won't be back until at least the early evening." Without waiting for another protest, Altaїr dipped his head and placed a desirous kiss on Malik's chest, over the robes he wore.

* * *

Ao3 for smut!

* * *

Again taking a hold of Altaїr's robes, Malik forcefully pulled him into a ravaging kiss. It was a brief embrace, but heady.

Altaїr pulled away first, a smug and overly proud smirk spread over his scarred lips. He retrieved the still smoking pipe and took another deep pull from it, never taking those enticing amber eyes off of Malik. For once, Malik could really study the man's face. He had not shaven since the night before, but even then little hair had graced his cheeks. His eyes fell to the scar on his upper and lower lip, still pink from its newness.

"I see your scar is healing nicely," he quipped, breaking the silence that had accumulated between them. He rubbed a thumb roughly over the man's upper lip, watching in satisfaction as the man flinched just slightly. As he suspected, it was still tender. It had not been two months since he had given the man that scar.

Altaїr caught the man's hand in his own and growled, but not entirely without lust. "I have marked you a fair amount." Malik felt his lips quirk upward and he took his long stemmed pipe from the man, putting it to his mouth but not taking a pull just yet.

"I do not scar as easily, my fair-skinned friend," he teased, now sucking at the end of the pipe and breathing in the sweet smoke.

Altaїr's eyes flashed with mischief. "You would if I cut you deep enough."

Malik exhaled, filling the space between them with the thin white smoke. "I would like to see you try, brother."

"Is that a challenge?" A smirk dissolved from the haze between them and Malik could not resist smothering that mouth with a biting kiss. They were lost in each other once again, among the swirling sweet smoke and the deep cushions cradling the two Assassins.

* * *

Rain pattered on the broad and tall window above the grand library staircase, Al Mualim's voice carrying over the heads of the gathered members of the Brotherhood. All those in attendance were glad to be out of the pouring rain, as the ceremony was being held indoors and not in the courtyard behind the library as usual.

Malik could barely hear the words that their Mentor said. The new robes given to him that morning felt heavy on his shoulders, the long tails hanging almost to his heels. It had two more layers than his trainee robes, the shirt underneath and his cowl now white instead of gray. He stood just a few steps down from the top of the stair landing where Al Mualim presided. His back was turned to the rather sizeable crowd behind him. Every Assassin not away on a mission or otherwise detained, both trainee and full Brother, stood listening to the Grand Master speak of the Creed, of duty, and of loyalty. Most had listened to the speech before if they had witnessed another brother's ascent. Most treated the ceremony with respect, but there certainly were reluctant viewers. They saw the ceremony as frivolous, or they thought themselves incapable of reaching such heights so they resented the whole ordeal.

Malik had been one of the latter. He had sat through far too many ceremonies when he could have been bettering himself. Now that he was the one receiving the honor, he found the ceremony an essential part of being welcomed into the Brotherhood. It was his way of announcing his rank, of declaring his dedication to the Assassins.

This was his moment to finally be equal with Altaїr.

Al Mualim finished his address to the crowd as a whole and focused then only on the man before him. "Malik Al-Sayf, son of Faheem Al-Sayf. You have worked long and hard to achieve this rank. You were raised in the Assassin Order. Your law is the Creed and your home is the Brotherhood. We are your parents, your brothers, and your comrades and we all stand behind you now." Al Mualim gave a broad motion towards Malik. "With your new robes, you become the eagle, looking from on high for your prey. Wearing them, you will hide in plain sight. As you clothe yourself in the robes of a full Assassin you will be stealth itself." He motioned for a scholar standing to his right to approach. He carried with him a single item. Al Mualim took it up and held it delicately in his hands. Its hilt gleamed gold in the gray, rainy light, the curved blade sharp enough to cut through the toughest armor.

"This blade will be your talons. With this sword you will strike down your foes. Wield it well and stay its edge from those who are innocent. Bear it with pride and you will carve our foes with ease." This he bestowed upon Malik, who took it carefully. "And now I give you the title of Assassin. As an eagle with deadly talons, this title is your pride, your grace. It is your wings. Bearing the name Assassin, you will never bring dishonor or danger upon the Brotherhood. You work in the dark to serve the light."

Malik bowed his head as he sheathed his new weapon, knowing just what the old man was going to say next. It was always the same.

"Now I ask you, to see what kind of man you are, to respond to the ageless scenario: You come across a river that you must cross. How do you achieve this?" Malik glanced up and saw a twinkle in the man's eye. No response was incorrect, and even not answering was admissible. He had been thinking upon this question ever since he had first heard it, and he still was unsure what he would say.

"It would depend on the circumstance," Malik replied slowly at first, his voice growing in strength as he continued. "If I were alone, I would cross it myself. If I were escorting someone, I would follow it to find a bridge. If I were being pursued, I would use it to my advantage in a fight. There is no way of knowing how to cross it until I come to it and assess the situation. Only then will I know how to cross the river."

Al Mualim nodded at his answer. "You are as wise as you are skillful with a blade, Malik Al-Sayf." He stepped forward once more and placed his hands on Malik's shoulders. "Welcome to the Brotherhood."

A chorus of voices thrummed through the high-ceilinged library, each man speaking as if with one voice. "_Laa shay'a waqi'un moutlaq bale kouloun moumkine_." Nothing is true, everything is permitted.

When the echo died down, the Grand Master addressed the man before him one last time. "Come to the tower, Assassin Malik Al-Sayf, and let your wings carry you to safety."

The procession up the stairs to the tall tower was a silent one. Malik was surrounded on all sides by men he had grown up with, men who he had sparred with and men who he had killed with. The full Assassins were the ones to lead the way, followed by Malik and then the apprentices and trainees. Malik glanced forward and saw the crooked smirk of Altaїr staring back at him before he turned away, continuing his ascent up the stairs. Kadar had pressed his way forward and was at his shoulder, his face beaming with pride for his older brother.

It seemed altogether forever and only a moment until he was facing his brothers who had made a path to the wooden outcrop at the top of the tower. The rain raged beyond the protection of the stone roof, Masyaf below obscured by the mist.

Malik made his way in between the two columns of robed men. He braced against the weather as he stepped out of the protection of the tower. The rain beat against his hood, soaking through his new robes. The tails whipped in the wind as he stood on the wooden outcrop, the ground obscured below him. He took a deep breath of the moist, crisp air and raised his arms.

He was the eagle.

He was an Assassin.

He closed his eyes to the world and leapt.

* * *

End Notes: I was going to have Malik smoking a Hookah, but after some research I found out that hookahs weren't invented until the 1500s. Rule number one of writing a semi-historically accurate (haha not really) story is not putting inventions in 300 years too early. They did, however, smoke pipes with various spices mixed in with tobacco (or weed, but I decided that Malik wouldn't want to get high, kind of like how I don't think he would drink alcohol. Mind-altering things would get in the way of his integrity). Similarly, I was going to have coffee be a drink that they normally consumed, but it wasn't brought to the region, again, until the 1500s.  
Needless to say, I now know a lot more about the history of hookahs and coffee in Syria.  
Stay tuned for next week's exciting chapter of Silent Discourse: Chapter 15: Judicature in Jerusalem!


	15. Judicature in Jerusalem

To read the smutty version, go to my profile and click the link to my AO3!

* * *

Chapter 15: Judicature in Jerusalem

* * *

Weeks had passed since Malik's initiation into the Assassin Brotherhood. With his ascent came new responsibilities. He had been sent on his first solo mission to Acre and had returned with little more than a few bruises along with his bloodied feather. As a full member of the Brotherhood, he was invited to the strategizing meetings held by Al Mualim, where they discussed recent events and their implications to the Order. They planned and plotted in the closed and secure meeting room, all gathered around a sturdy oblong table in high backed chairs.

This was where they decided who would die and how. For once, Malik could have his voice heard and received with respect. Although all of the full Assassins were invited to these meetings, only a handful attended. Each man had their strengths and those who knew the intricacies of strategy were the ones to come. Altaїr had never come to a meeting and Malik never expected him to. As he put it himself, his talents were beyond plotting in the dark with old men.

Altaїr. Even thinking of the man brought a wave of lust along with an undertone of uncertainty that never quite went away. It had taken him many nights of holding back, of pushing him away just enough to keep from going further, for Malik to finally come to terms with the depth of their arrangement. He had finally taken the final step in allowing the man into his psyche. He had given himself fully to him. In a surge of trust he had allowed Altaїr to take him, knowing full well that he was potentially writing his own sentence to the chopping block.

He disregarded all of his qualms that evening, finally fully giving in to his carnal urges. It had been a night of galaxies colliding, inhibitions thrown to the wind. Neither man would deny that they had plunged into the depths, but neither man would say that they regretted it for a moment.

Over the past weeks, Tariq and Naji had been sent out to collect map data and had returned many times with a plethora of valuable information. In his spare time, which was growing shorter and shorter every day, Malik would plot this information onto new maps.

They were in the thick of winter now, not one day gone by without the sky opening up and releasing rain or sleet upon Masyaf. On one particularly dark day, Malik hurried up the slope to the library, sensing that a heavy downpour was imminent. He reached the library just as drops began to patter on the already wet ground. He entered the meeting room, where the council gathered twice a week for their discussions. It was business as usual, except for one bit of troubling news.

"I have received word from Jerusalem," Al Mualim announced at his place at the head of the table, the gathered Assassins with their lowered hoods listening intently. This was a room with no secrets and each man removed their hood upon entering as a sign of dedication to this. "The word is that men are being taken by force from their homes to serve in the Crusader army. Salah Al'din currently holds Jerusalem and has for some months now. I have reason to believe that the Templars are behind the Crusaders and they plan to attack the city from within. In its weakened state, I fear the worst for the city if more conflict arises."

"Do we have a name?" The question was asked by an aging Assassin, his gruff and steely appearance revealing the hard years he had dedicated to the Brotherhood.

Al Mualim shook his head. "Not yet, but we have our contacts around the city gathering information. This will be a delicate mission. Stirring up the people will only cause panic and if Salah Al'din's men hear of this scheme, I fear all is lost in Jerusalem." The old man paused and gathered his thoughts, the men around the table waiting patiently for his plan. "This is a mission for a Master Assassin, but we have not had one in our ranks for a decade." His gaze fell upon Malik, a touch of sympathy flashing briefly in that look. It was his father of who he spoke, a great Master Assassin in life.

Malik had been twelve when news arrived from abroad of his father's death. His skill in languages made his work most useful far outside of Syria and he would be gone for months at a time, returning home only briefly before going off again. Those days he spent with his sons were precious, but few and far between. Malik cared for his younger brother in place of their father, telling him grand stories of the great Master Assassin Faheem. Stories that his father had told him when Kadar was too young to remember.

It was this man that Malik looked up to all his life, this man who he based his strongest convictions off of.

"I will go." Malik was almost surprised to hear himself say the words. The aged Mentor stared levelly at him from across the long table, though there was a twinkle in his good eye.

"Your skill in stealth would prove useful in this, but you cannot go alone." Al Mualim was stern in this, and he received scattered nods about the table.

"I do not intend that, Grand Master," Malik was quick to reply. "I will take a Brother with me."

"I just returned from Jerusalem. The roads have been treacherous," another Assassin interjected. "It is a particularly cold winter in the south."

Malik steeled his resolve. "I will find someone willing to go."

With that, Al Mualim gave his assent. The meeting continued on as usual, only one man gracing Malik's thoughts.

* * *

Icy rain came down in sheets in the early morning. The oiled cloak Malik wore did little to keep out the cold, but it at least staved off the rain. The man saddling his horse beside him sneered against the wet, drawing his own oil cloak closer about him as he settled.

Malik pulled his horse around so the mare was abreast with Altaїr's stallion. "Ready?" He asked his companion over the pouring rain.

The man sighed and those penetrating amber eyes glared daggers at him. "Why would you choose me for this mission? Is this some kind of punishment?"

This thought had occurred to Malik, though he was not entirely sure what the punishment would be for. Perhaps he could have used it to punish the man for the day that Malik was unable to walk after one of their lusty unions. He had ultimately come to rely on different reasoning for bringing Altaїr along. "Al Mualim let me decide who would be best suited to join me. As much as I hate to admit it, you are skilled and I think we can work well together."

The man's scowl gave way to a knowing smirk. "Or is it that you want me to warm your bed in the cold?" The man reached over and ran a groping hand along Malik's inner thigh.

Malik gave the man a swift kick in the leg, a bit less good naturedly than he intended. "You think too highly of yourself, Altaїr. I have managed journeying in the winter up until now." He ignored the man's look of feigned hurt. Malik pulled his horse onto the road outside the gates of Maysaf, Altaїr keeping close. They rode in silence for a long while, gaining speed gradually. The faster they went, the more the rain was dashed in their eyes, the water streaming from their chins making chilling rivulets that dripped down their chests. For the journey, their misery had only just begun. It was slow going, the road slick with mud.

The one upside to traveling in the rain was that their slower pace meant that they did not have to stop as frequently to let the horses rest. On one of their few stops, Malik continued his explanation of the mission.

"Al Mualim said that this mission is more suited to a Master Assassin," he spoke as they braced their backs against a sudden gust of wind, their horses pulling at sodden hay from a pile on the side of the road.

Altaїr scoffed at that, rubbing at his arms for warmth beneath his cloak. "Trying to gain the title so soon? That is ambitious, especially for you."

"Perhaps," Malik agreed. He let their conversation dissolve into silence once again, motioning towards their mounts so they could continue on.

The day did not seem to grow any warmer as the sun reached higher into the sky. It barely lightened the rain-heavy sky, never once piercing through the thick veil of clouds. The two Assassins pressed on until the early evening, when they stopped to make what camp they could. A fire was impossible in the damp and all the wood would be soaked through. They constructed a sort of half tent by securing an oiled blanket to the branch of a tree and staking two corners into the soft ground. It worked to ward off the rain and wind well enough. A second oiled blanket was placed on the ground beneath it for them to keep off of the mud.

They sat shoulder to shoulder and ate their travel rations in silence, both too wet and miserable to find the energy to converse.

As the last of the light of day wore off, the two men lay beside one another. Altaїr automatically brought his arm about Malik's waist, as he had grown accustomed to doing on the nights they spent together. Inside Altaїr's home, within the walls of Masyaf, Malik had gradually grown comfortable with this. Outside those protections and in the open, however, he was wary. His partner pulled him closer as if he sensed this unease, their fronts almost flush together.

The warmth of the embrace brought a wave of life and feeling back into his limbs. Malik's chilly and damp skin prickled with the other man's heat and he finally returned the embrace. It was by far the chastest action that Altaїr had done and somehow that made it feel all the more intimate. Malik brushed the thought aside. He had convinced himself over the past weeks that his desires were carnal, they were only brought about by the fierce feelings both good and bad that he had for the man. It certainly was a play of power; every night the two spent together was a struggle for dominance. Their swordfights had been replaced by rolling and wrestling, naked in each other's arms. But there was something more – a deep pleasure and satisfaction that came no matter which of them came out on top.

As it was, Malik was content to relish in the man's warming embrace, taking comfort and giving it in return. It was the only solace they had in this hardship.

Five more days of this misery passed. On a trip that would normally only take that amount of time in the summer, traveling to Jerusalem in the winter took at least two more days. At the end of their third day, the two men had grown completely silent. Slogging through mud while enduring the constant barrage of rain and wind had quickly taken its toll. The only comfort came from their nightly embraces when they pulled as much heat as they could from their fatigued, frigid bodies.

By the fourth day, the rain had soaked through their oiled cloaks and beneath them their robes hung heavy on them with wet. It was useless trying to keep dry, so they pressed on. Frost had begun forming on their cloaks as they slept. Every day they got closer to Jerusalem the colder it got.

It was late afternoon on the seventh day when they reached the top of a slope and looked down the hill to find the holy city's high walls spreading before them. The tall towers of churches and the impressive domes of mosques beyond the towering wall were obscured by the haze of weather. Both men released sighs of relief as they urged their horses down the descending road. They passed by travelers on foot looking just as wet and miserable as they were.

Refugees, travelers with wares to sell, and people on their pilgrimages slowly made their way up and down the slope. Malik carefully weaved his horse around them. The landscape around the city gates was still scarred from the battle that had raged there not many months before and the rain had only served to turn it into a muddy mess.

Altaїr and Malik left their exhausted horses at the stables and took up their sodden travel bags. Malik glanced around to see their options for entering the guarded entrance. There were no white robed scholars in sight, but their dark rain cloaks would surely give them away if they blended in with them. Malik felt a tug on his elbow and looked to see Altaїr motioning towards a small group of cloaked travelers. Malik gave them a quick scrutinizing glance. They were pilgrims, coming to the holiest of cities to commune with whatever God they prayed to.

Malik was impressed at Altaїr's restraint and suggestion of subtlety. Though as he thought upon it, the walls would be slick with water and climbing up them to enter the city would certainly prove to be far more trouble than it was worth.

Without a word, the two Assassins slipped among the worshippers, keeping their heads lowered as they passed the guards. They slipped into the streets and quickly made their way to the Bureau. Dropping into the sheltered patio was such a heavy relief that Malik almost considered dropping on the spot to take his rest. The cold had sapped his strength, and by the way his partner's shoulders drooped, he felt the same.

The two men stepped heavily into the office and were struck by the heat that it offered. An old and seemingly ailing man looked up from a book he was poring over, staring at the two new arrivals with squinting eyes as if he could not quite see them.

"Greetings, Rafiq," Altaїr offered gruffly, almost hastily. Malik could not blame him. He too wanted to get out of his sopping clothing and don his hopefully dry spare set of robes.

Instant recognition sprang to the Rafiq's face. "Altaїr! I could hardly see you beneath all that mud." He looked to Malik and studied him for a moment before a gentle grin pulled at his wrinkled cheeks. "And our new brother, Malik. I have heard of your ascent into the Brotherhood. Congratulations."

"It is an honor," Malik replied cordially, getting straight to business. "We come on behalf of the Crusaders taking up unwilling soldiers into their ranks. Have your contacts come up with any more information on this?"

The old man nodded, but waved it off like an annoying fly. "We have time to discuss this later. You are weary from your travels. Dry off before you drip all of the rain from Syria onto my floor!" He wheezed out a laugh and the two younger Assassins exchanged a dubious but also grateful look. The old Rafiq continued, "I will take your wet robes and dry them by my hearth."

The two men did just that, clothing themselves in the second set of robes that each of them packed deep in their travel bags. After a much appreciated hot meal, the Rafiq gave them each a mug of tea and sat with them inside the office among the cushions that normally sat outside.

Malik soaked in the heat from his steaming mug with relish as he listened to the old man tell them the details of what his contacts had discovered. The man's name was Rasul Qasim El-Amin and he had been suspected to be affiliated with the Templar Order since before Saladin gained control over Jerusalem. He gave the orders to retrieve men for the Crusader army, but he never attended the raids himself.

"My contacts have not discovered where the man lives or works. It will be up to you two to find this out. The raids happen in the early morning, before the sun touches the sky. In this way they take the citizen by surprise and drag them from their beds, defenseless."

It was Altaїr who spoke next, setting his empty mug aside. "The best strategy would be to attend one of these raids and interrogate one of the soldiers."

Malik looked to his partner, impressed at his plan. For once, he agreed on the course of action that he suggested, but it needed adjustment as did all of the man's ideas. "We must do this with the utmost stealth. If the other soldiers get a hint that something is amiss, all will be lost."

The old Rafiq nodded at this. "The situation is delicate. The whole city is on edge. Tension has been high ever since Salah Al'din took control. We are ill prepared as it is for this winter; more conflict within these walls will see to it that Jerusalem will not survive until spring."

"Where do these raids happen?" Malik asked of the Bureau leader.

He sighed in response. "They happen at random, it seems. There are sometimes five raids in a week, and other times there are none. We only find out about them after the fact. They are stealthy, which makes your job all the more difficult." Malik blinked. That certainly had not been the answer to the question he had asked. He had asked where, not when. The Assassin put the thought from his mind.

"We will open our ears to the streets tomorrow," Malik decided, "listen to what the people have to say."

"My contacts will do the same," the Rafiq stated. He stood then, bidding the two Assassins a good night and retreated into his living quarters. As soon as the door was shut behind the old man, Malik let out a sigh that held within it his heavy fatigue of the long days of travel gone by. The deep cushions looked more than inviting. It was not long before he succumbed to their allure. Knowing that Altaїr would be quick to follow, he lay atop the cushions, their comfort feeling like clouds compared to the muddy ground that had become his bed for the past week.

He heard the other man stand and open the window to the hanging lamp that lit the room. They were plunged into darkness as he extinguished the flame, the moonlight outside illuminating large white snowflakes as they fell through the grate at the Bureau entrance. Malik shivered at the sight. It was going to be a cold night.

The cushions behind him shifted as Altaїr lay atop them. An arm was about his waist then, the man drawing his front flush with Malik's backside. While he was thankful for the warmth, if anyone were to look on the two men they would not be able to deny the intimacy of the embrace. As if in defiance of this, lips began working at the back of Malik's neck, the brush of Altaїr's unshaven face against his skin sending chills that had little to do with the cold down his spine.

Malik was useless to resist when it came to Altaїr's gentle caresses at his neck and behind his ears. After a long week with no sexual release, Malik could feel the sparks of desire emanating from the man behind him. He made no protest until the Assassin began a steady, smooth grind of his hips against Malik's rear.

This was dangerous, and Malik knew it. He was torn, both lusting for the man and feeling the need to spurn him to keep them both away from the arms of danger. "Altaїr," he said lowly in warning, but the motions only became stronger, more insistent.

"The Rafiq is as deaf as he is blind," Altaїr breathed into his ear.

That would explain him answering the wrong question before. Malik bit his tongue to cut short a desirous gasp. "We are not protected by Masyaf here."

"We protect ourselves," the man was quick to answer.

* * *

Go to the link to my AO3 in my profile for smut!

* * *

The cold air pricked at the sweat that had accumulated in their intimate moment. In each other's arms, the weather was forgotten, the hardship of the long week past all but a memory. They fell asleep in that tangled embrace, not caring if they were found. Whatever the morning brought was worth simply being in one another's intimate, warming arms.

* * *

End Notes: When I realized that it snowed in Jerusalem during the winter, I had to write them going on a mission with all of the cuddling in the cold.

Stay tuned for next week's exciting chapter: Spurned in Sanctuary! It might come a little early because I'll be at Anime Expo. I'll be dressed as a red cloaked traveler from Journey if you want to seek me out!


	16. Spurned in Sanctuary

Chapter 16: Spurned in Sanctuary

* * *

What the next day brought was more rain. It quickly melted the buildup of snow that had fallen the evening before, turning the streets into muddy slush. The two Assassins had donned their hooded rain cloaks and took to wandering the wet streets. Even though it was yet another rainy day, life in the city carried on. The markets were still full of vendors selling their goods, the citizens running from one to the next to keep as dry as possible.

The information that the two men wanted would not be heard among this crowd, so they hurried on. Altaїr was scanning the people, all-seeing eyes gazing out from under his heavy hood. It still sent a chill down Malik's spine whenever the man used his Eagle Vision, but he could not deny that it gave them an advantage in their search.

It was almost midday before Altaїr appeared to see something. He suddenly reached and grabbed a firm hold of Malik's arm, pulling him to a stop and drawing him to the entrance to a long alleyway.

Knowing to stay silent, Malik did not question the action as they pressed themselves against the wall just outside of the alleyway. Voices echoed down the passageway, difficult to discern over the patter of rain on the rough cobblestone streets. Needing a better vantage point, the two Assassins swiftly climbed the wall, being careful to not slip on the slick stones. They perched on the roof edge just above the two conversing men, listening intently.

"Another one?" The first man asked, sounding more than exasperated at the request.

"It is on the far west side of the city. This will tell you the exact location. Make sure your men are ready this time." There was an exchange, the two men shuffling a paper between them.

The two conversing men parted ways. Altaїr made to go after the one who had received the letter, but was stopped by a halting hand on his shoulder.

"That man is a leader. If he turns up missing, people will notice and sound an alarm."

Altaїr appeared to take this information in. He nodded once. "Just the letter, then."

"I am right behind you," Malik confirmed. Altaїr silently crept along the edge of the roof after the retreating man, Malik close behind. They descended from the rooftop, walking amongst the people once more. Altaїr pushed forward, Malik cringing as he drew the attention of a few passerby in his haste. He reached the side of their target and just as quick, he turned away and returned to his partner's side. He nodded once and the two dissolved into the crowd in search of a dry place to read of their destination.

They ducked under an empty market stall, Altaїr bringing out the small scroll of paper. They bent over it, looks of dismay instantly coming across their faces.

"It's in code?" Malik cursed, taking the paper from Altaїr and studying it closer. "I would be impressed if this weren't so inconvenient. It will take me a while to figure this out."

"We should go back to the Bureau then," Altaїr suggested and was met with a thankful nod of approval.

It indeed was a while before Malik began making sense of the written code. It was a smart move of the Templars to adopt such a habit. If Malik could crack the code, it was all for the better for the Assassins. With their code, the Templars were probably feeling secure enough in their secrets to not warrant extra security around passing written orders.

Malik stared down at the page of notes he had taken. As far as he could tell, the strange symbols made no logical sense. He had anticipated them to form up and to spell out a word or a name of a location. Instead, it was a sprawled mess. In his frustration, he cursed and tossed the scrap of parchment with the decoded mess away. It fluttered away and landed beside Altaїr, who was resting on the cushions beside the game board where Malik had been stooped and scrawling.

The Assassin took it up and glanced at Malik's pen marks. "It's a map," he said plainly.

Malik's head shot up from where he had been holding it in his palms. "What?"

Altaїr sat opposite him on the game board and spread the paper out between them. "For all of your knowledge of maps, I am surprised you did not see it." His finger drifted over the lines, accentuating the pattern that they made. "These are streets. They are not words but they show the placement of the buildings. This larger symbol-"

"That is where the recipient was to meet with his men." The layout was clear as day now that Malik saw it with a fresh perspective. It was a crude but somewhat accurate overview of the Middle District. "But he will not be there tonight with his men. There is no way he could have deciphered it while he stood there."

Altaїr nodded at this. "There is bound to be someone there to oversee the operation. I am guessing the men meant to be there tonight are hired hands."

"We will take this overseer by surprise, then. He will be waiting for reinforcements, but all he will get is us."

The two Assassins rested for the remainder of the day, knowing that they would need to be awake and aware in the dark of night.

Snow was falling on the rooftops that the two men swiftly and carefully traversed just as the bells chimed twice, marking the time as two in the morning. The city was silent, sound muffled by the heavy falling flakes of snow. They came to the appointed house, crouching at the edge of the roof with the door just in sight. Here, they waited.

Two hours passed, marked by the droning chime of bells. Snow collected on their cloaks as they huddled together for warmth, still keeping a vigilant eye on the meeting spot. It was another hour before they saw any movement on the street.

It was a single man dressed as a Saracen guard, but a quick whisper from Altaїr, who could see him for what he truly was, proved him to be in disguise. He stopped in front of the door, glancing about. He was looking for his reinforcements, but the Assassins knew none would come.

They silently dropped down onto the street below and approached the man on light feet, using the shadows to cloak them. Even though his muscles were stiff from the cold, Malik was swift in his approach, Altaїr at his side. Before the man in costume could sense the imminent danger, the two Assassins were on him. They quickly stifled his shout of surprise, knocking him to the ground to land in the thin buildup of snow.

He struggled until Altaїr brought out his hidden blade and held it to his neck, the sharp edge barely cutting into his skin.

"Where is your master?" Altaїr's voice was low and dark, his blade insisting on a quick answer.

The man swallowed, the action making the blade cut deeper into his flesh. A trickle of blood swept down his skin and disappeared beyond the chainmail shirt he wore. "I was told to not speak." His voice was thin with fear.

"We can make you talk," Altaїr insisted. To punctuate that threat, Malik brought out his short sword and pressed the point to the man's gloved hand at the knuckle of his middle finger.

The man took in a sharp breath, eyes bulging. "I get my orders from El-Amin," he hastily spat out, his body going rigid with fright.

"We know this," Malik pressed his dagger point deeper into the man's finger joint, the tip penetrating the thick leather. The man stifled a cry of pain, biting his tongue and stammering out his response hastily.

"I- I- I meet with him in the courtyard of the Rich District three times a week at noon. He- he will know if I am gone! He will ensure our cause is continued!"

"Not for long." With that, Altaїr's blade slid easily through flesh and muscle, the man's lifeblood reddening the snow around his pitifully convulsing body.

Malik stood as Altaїr did. "We must hide his body. We do not want to sound the alarm before we find El-Amin. The morning rain will wash away the blood."

Altaїr nodded and dragged the man's corpse out of the open street. With Malik's assistance, he stashed the body under a pile of rotting hay. Their task complete, the two men swiftly made their way back to the Bureau. They had a name, they had a location and they had a time. Now all they needed was the man himself.

* * *

The rain the next afternoon was particularly heavy. The robes that the two Assassins had given to the Rafiq to dry were almost instantly soaked through, even though they wore their oiled cloaks. They sat upon a bench underneath an overhang to wait for their target to appear. Altaїr's piercing gaze swept over the sparse patrons of the Rich District plaza. The bell towers tolled twelve times, marking the time as noon. Malik watched on as Altaїr's brow furrowed. An hour passed with no sign of Rasul Qasim El-Amin.

Disheartened, the two Assassins retreated to the shelter of the Bureau. With nothing to do and no leads as to where to find their target, they were forced to the confines of the office. It was a good change to be out of the rain, but their robes from the night before still had not dried completely. Miserable, cold and damp once again, the men put their heads together and strategized, trying to find the best way to approach their target. The Rafiq was busy at his desk, leaving the two to ponder on their own.

"What if that officer last night was lying about the meeting time or place?" Malik had been worrying over this for the entirety of the day.

Altaїr shook his head. "Men rarely lie when their lives or their person are in danger. We simply must wait until an appointed meeting day comes around. The man said that they meet up three times a week."

"Chances are that meeting will take place tomorrow, that is true," Malik gave in return.

"Something still worries you," Altaїr stated, drawing the gaze from his partner.

Malik shook his head. "I am only thinking over what we may have overlooked. The officer from last night will be found soon and if El-Amin is told of his death we will need to find a new way to meet him."

"If it comes to that, we will change our plan. Until then, we should continue on with our current method," Altaїr insisted. He sounded so sure when Malik was still skeptical.

"That is where I do not agree," he countered. "If something changes, we must anticipate it and be prepared; otherwise we will find that El-Amin is out of our reach."

Altaїr sighed, "You always look too far into these things. Nothing is as ever as complicated as you make it."

Malik turned sharply on him. "Just because you cannot see the intricacies of this mission does not mean that they do not exist. You may be able to see much with your Eagle Vision, but there is still much that you miss."

The argument continued on thus, each man presenting the other with another option, another side to the problem. While it did not grow heated, the two Assassins were by no means on good terms when the Rafiq interrupted with the promise of dinner. The two men remained silent towards one another, forcing the Rafiq to make strained conversation over their meal.

As they retired for the evening, Malik lay upon the cushions with his back turned on his partner. His stubbornness and his anger about the argument persisted and he wanted nothing to do with his partner. When Altaїr tried to bring him into his arms, as had become their usual position, Malik wordlessly spurned the embrace. Dejected, Altaїr took his rest away from Malik.

It was the cold that woke Malik late into the night. Even with the covers that the Rafiq had given the men, the winter chill still struck to the bone. Malik shivered violently, sorely missing the warm arms about him that he had become so accustomed to. He turned to find Altaїr with his back to him, curled into himself, arms wrapped tightly around his own shoulders. Malik hated how much he had come to rely upon the man, hated how much comfort he provided. But all at once he was overly grateful for his presence.

Putting his pride to the side just for the night, Malik shuffled to the man's side, drawing a shivering arm about the other man and pressing his cheek to his back. Almost instantly Altaїr turned and pulled Malik into his arms. Malik looked up to find that even though Altaїr pulled him close, he was still deep in sleep. This brought a small reluctant but endearing smile to Malik's lips.

For all of the man's skill with the blade, for all of his proficiency at killing others, all he craved while he slept was something to hold onto. Malik fell asleep, content to know that he was the one providing that particular comfort, at least for that night.

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**End Notes:** Next week, Assassins get shit done. Stay tuned for the next exciting installment of Silent Discourse: Chapter 17: Fight in Fortitude!

On a side note, haloo from Anime Expo! If you want to find me, I'm still going to be wearing my Journey cosplay. Red cloak with a bunch of gold decorations.


	17. Fight in Fortitude

OH hey, if you want to read the full smutty chapter, go look for the link to my AO3 on my profile!

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Chapter 17: Fight in Fortitude

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The next day was just as dark and frosty as the previous had been. As the morning wore into the afternoon, the two Assassins donned their cloaks in silence and made their way to the plaza where they would hopefully see their target. They sat upon the same bench as the previous day, the midday crowd slim once more.

Neither spoke of what had transpired the evening before, or of how Altaїr found Malik in his arms that morning after he had pushed him away before they slept. It made Malik feel weak, to need to rely on his partner for such a simple thing as keeping warm. He disliked needing assistance with anything, always wanting to be independent.

On the other hand, Altaїr appeared to need him as well. If the man's unconscious actions of pulling him into a firm embrace were any indication, Malik would have to say that Altaїr was just as in need as he was. This at least brought him a sense of satisfaction. If he were weak in needing warmth, then his rival was reciprocally weak in his need for someone to hold. It would appear that they were equals in this.

Malik was brought from his thoughts as once more the bells tolled noon. Just as the din of the chimes died down, Altaїr's position shifted just slightly. Malik looked to where he kept his concealed stare fixed. A man not exceptionally dressed leaned against the gazebo in the center of the square. His shifty eyes told the two men all they needed to know. He was looking for someone, but the onlookers knew that his accomplice would never arrive. As the noon hour wore on, the man became increasingly vigilant in looking about his person, worry growing on his brow. He looked as though he were expecting everyone in the square to turn on him in an instant.

As soon as he stepped away from the meeting place, the two Assassins wordlessly stood and followed. The man was smart, taking only public roads and not passing through the dark alleyways. His steps grew longer, quicker as he neared his destination. His followers had to hurry to keep up, though never forgoing stealth in trade for speed. Their target slipped beyond the gates of a modest estate. With a look, the two Assassins decided upon the next action: climb, infiltrate, and assassinate.

The climb up the slick walls was treacherous, their handholds and footholds slipping. At least they were protected by the mist of rain from any wandering eye. They dropped into the small central garden and glanced about for a sign of their target. The place looked deserted. Altaїr swept his penetrating gaze about and nodded towards a door at the far end. It had been left just slightly ajar and when pressed, gave way to Altaїr's hand.

The two Assassins stole quietly into the building. It was as modestly adorned as it was modest in size. This man had money, or his family did, but they chose to not flaunt it openly. It was a smart move in times of war by dissuading pillagers from sacking their possessions.

Stealing down the hallway, the two Assassins kept all senses open. There was the light step of someone trying to quickly and quietly run ahead of them. Rasul Qasim El-Amin had to be fearful for his life, knowing that there was someone after him. They followed the sound deeper into the estate. They climbed the stairs leading to the next level two at a time, closing in on their target. They came to two large, sturdy doors at the top of the stairwell. Knowing that El-Amin was just beyond them, they each took a handle and pressed forward.

The pair stepped into the dark room, a single beam of gray light piercing through a drawn curtain. It illuminated a single man standing before them. A chill ran down Malik's neck. This was wrong. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Altaїr stiffening as well. They were both tight springs, ready to take action.

"The Assassins have come, I see," El-Amin said lowly, voice quiet in the dark room. He almost appeared to not be the same man they had spotted in the plaza. Now coldly confident, he stood his ground with no fear. "I have been expecting you to find me for some days now."

A scrape of metal on metal rang through the room. Altaїr and Malik both turned to find the double doors behind them shut and barred, two men with drawn swords turning away from their stealthy work. That would explain El-Amin's sudden confidence. They were trapped. Both Assassins drew their swords, sweeping back to look at their target. He was now flanked by four men, two on each side, naked steel glinting in the beam of light.

They were outnumbered, surrounded and there was no escape within sight.

"No cryptic words for me, Assassins?" Their target flashed a shadowed grin. "Shame. You will die with only whimpers on your lips."

With a motion, the men were on them. Malik spun to the men behind them, Altaїr facing those to the front. Back to back, they staved off the six men. Malik ducked and parried, slashing at one man before turning to the next. Just as he met blades with one man, the next was on him. These hired hands held no chivalry in their hearts, all attacking at once with no respect for the art of swordplay.

Malik was juggling three men at once and he was crumpling from the weight of the onslaught from the three different swords. Having no time to look to his partner, he figured Altaїr was faring the same. Just as he jabbed forward, his blade barely scraping the man's flank, another man sliced at his legs. Malik stepped away just in time to save his muscles from being severed by the blow, but he did not come away unscathed. He turned on the other man, ducking a second attack.

Three was too many, Malik quickly found. These men were trained extensively in combat and were not afraid to fight dirty. A thrown knife quickly dealt with one of the men as it buried itself in his knee. His cry was lost in the tense, calculated chaos. Now with two men to deal with, Malik drew his dagger from the sheath strung on his back. With two blades, he blocked with one sword and attacked with the other. His opponents were unrelenting in their attacks, attacking him from any angle of opportunity. Malik twisted and bent around them, blocking their blades with his own and retaliating in full force.

The ring of steel took over the small room, the shouts of men deafening and adding to the confusion in the dark. A sword whistled just above Malik's head and he spared a glance to Altaїr, who had also just missed being struck by the blow. Malik swept his foot out, sending one of his opponents crashing to the stone floor. The fallen man waved his sword wildly before him, its tip catching the end of Malik's rain cloak and tearing it before slicing through the sleeve of Malik's right arm. Malik ignored the bloom of blood as he bared down on the man. He was quickly silenced when Malik's short sword plunged deep into his chest. The man with the knife in his knee was slowly recovering, limping back into the fight with a renewed vigor.

Malik turned from where he stooped over the dying man on the floor, preparing to strike at the man when another knife embedded itself in the man's eye socket. He let out a deafening wail of surprise and pain, crumpling to the ground. Yet another move from Altaїr's that he would have to thank him for. Malik turned on his third opponent just in time to catch a cleaving stroke. The force of it jarred his arm, but he kept a tight hold of his blade, striking out with the other he held. That stroke bit into the man's stomach, ripping up into his chest and ending at his chin. He fell with a wet thud as Malik pulled his dagger back, dripping with warm blood.

All at once, they were enveloped in silence, punctuated only by the heavy breathing of the two remaining men.

"He escaped," Altaїr breathed, wiping blood from his brow. Whether it was his own blood or the blood of those he had killed, Malik could not tell in the low light.

Malik wiped the blood from his blades and sheathed them quickly. "Can you find him?"

Those penetrating amber eyes swept the room. The man honed in on the curtain by the window. "This way."

His Eagle Vision had found a trap door just beneath the heavy drapery, thankfully unlocked. Altaїr dropped soundlessly into it, Malik following without hesitation. If they did not catch Rasul Qasim El-Amin now, they never would find him again.

The passage was tight and with no light to go by, the Assassins stumbled their way through. They came to another door and burst through it, almost blinded by the light that flooded their eyes. They were back in the courtyard of the manor. Altaїr took off at a run, quickly followed by his partner. He led them back out into the streets, weaving around the few passerby who hurried to get out of the rain.

Altaїr turned a corner and stopped abruptly. Malik slipped on the slick stones in his haste to halt and almost barreled into his partner. "He is above," Altaїr said quickly, breathlessly. He took off once again, quickly scrabbling up the side of a wall and hoisting himself up onto the roof. Malik was quick to follow and soon the two were racing across the rooftops. A figure in the distance stopped and stooped down, apparently catching his breath.

Two knifes were drawn from Malik's pouch and he threw them with years of precision and experience behind the motion. A cry confirmed his accuracy, the figure falling from sight. With a few more bounds, the two Assassins came upon the man. He had fallen from the rooftop and was pitifully trying to drag a useless leg behind him, the other dagger protruding from his neck. They dropped down on either side of their target, easily catching their breath and approaching him slowly. He had no escape. The unconcealed fear in his eyes told them as such.

His words were strong, however, as he spoke around the blade in his neck. He almost seemed to not notice it, though it had pierced his artery. "So, the great Assassins do bleed." Malik knew his own leg and arm had been cut and Altaїr also had not come away unscathed. The man before them was in a much worse state, though he did not seem to care.

Malik addressed the man, voice dark and threatening. "You have taken innocent men from their families to serve in your war."

El-Amin snarled up at him, a fire behind his eyes telling of his conviction. "They need to serve, as they should! They did not fight to save their city when the Saracens attacked, so they must fight now."

Malik crouched down beside their dying target, the wet stones around him becoming awash with a swill of red. "The city is weakened, its stores are low. Many will go hungry by the time winter is done. Creating conflict in this harsh winter when the Saracens are strong and the people weak will mean the destruction of the whole city. Do you not see how fragile it already is?"

The man's gaze widened and looked towards the heavens, rain falling in his eyes. "We fight for God, we fight to keep order-"

"You mean to crush the people, to gain control over them in their weakened state," Altaїr interrupted harshly from where he stood, towering over both his partner and their dying target.

El-Amin's voice softened, losing the strength that he had held not moments before. Their time was running short. "Those who are in need always seek a higher power, whether that is God or their leader. We are their true leaders."

"The Crusaders," Malik clarified.

A grin spread across the man's face, looking more skeletal by the second. "They are not entirely synonymous, nor are they exclusive of one another."

Malik leaned forward, gripping a handful of the man's shirt and shaking him. "What do you mean? Speak!"

But the man would never answer to anyone but to whatever god he knew. The glaze of death had come across his eyes and he would never again speak for his leaders.

Malik sighed and pulled the man's eyelids over his dead gaze. He looked up to his partner, surprised to find a feather in his hand, offering it. Malik took it wordlessly and bloodied it, quickly placing it in a pouch at his waist to keep the rain from washing away the mark.

They stole down a dark alley, removing themselves from the site of death.

Altaїr's voice cut through the silence as they stepped carefully through the shadowed passages. "I told you that you were over thinking this mission."

Malik turned on him. "Do you deny that the outcome could have been worse?"

This the man shrugged off the question. "But it was not."

Malik growled, coming to a stop and pulling the man's shoulder to face him. "We were ambushed, Altaїr. He knew we were coming. You are beginning to make me regret taking you on this mission instead of another one of our Brothers."

A scowl came over Altaїr's face, the cut on his brow still slowly bleeding down the side of his face. "If not for me, you would still be wandering blindly around the city for a target that you would never find."

Malik took hold of his partner's robe just under his cowl and shook him once. "Arrogance," he hissed.

"Is it not true?" He challenged in return.

That pulled a grimace from Malik. Of course it was true, but he would never admit it. "Be silent, Altaїr," he snapped.

Altaїr quickly turned the tides, grasping the man's shoulders between his palms and drawing him close, lips almost touching. "You need me, Malik."

Malik retaliated immediately, shoving his partner against the wall none too gently. He had a mind to beat some sense into his partner with his fist, but in his blinding rage he ultimately decided upon a different course of action. He forced their lips together in a biting embrace, not at all gentle or compassionate. They pushed and pulled at one another, both trying to fight and simultaneously share passion. Hands grabbed close and pushed away with equal strength. There was anger and tension, but lust as well. There was a craving to be close, whether that was in the throes of combat or the intimate embrace of lovers.

The wall Altaїr was pressed against was wet with rain, but the two Assassins were thoroughly soaked through already. Paying this no mind, Malik pressed his knee between the other man's thighs. Asserting his authority, he undulated his hips against the man, grinding him into the wall. Altaїr was receptive to this and aided in the desperate almost punishing motions. Malik growled as Altair bit at his neck, the man attempting to get the upper hand. He was trying to use the man's weakness against him in this battle of flesh rather than blades.

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AO3 for smut!

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As soon as Malik had straightened, he was swept close to Altaїr once more. "You _do_ need me," he breathed.

Anger seethed once more in Malik's chest. He clenched his fist, fully intending on slamming it into the arrogant man's nose, when his eyes fell upon the cut on his brow. The rain had washed some of the blood away and Malik could see that it was not small enough to ignore. After a quick look, he noted various tears in the man's robe, adorned with spots of red.

He had suffered far more cuts than Malik had in the fight. Reckless. "And you need to stop being so arrogant. Those cuts need looking at."

Malik shoved the man away and took a tentative step in the direction of the Bureau. The ache in his lower back became a sharp stab of pain and he grimaced. A hand was at his shoulder, but he quickly brushed it off. "I will be fine," he answered the unasked question and continued on his way. Each step irritated the ache in his back, but he pressed on, Altaїr falling in step beside him.

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Angry Assassin lovers are the best kind of lovers. Question: should I keep editing out the super smutty bits here, or do you want all of the sweaty sex with no censorship? I don't mind doing it, but I feel like it disrupts the flow of the story if you just read this version. Thoughts?

Stay tuned for next week's exciting chapter! More rain to come in Chapter 18: Passage in Peril!

So I made a poll on Tumblr to see if I should have these two have hot, sweaty sex in the dark, wet alleyway. It was overwhelmingly yes, so there you have it!


	18. Peril in Passage

Chapter 18: Peril in Passage

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The road back to Masyaf proved to be just as miserable as the trip to Jerusalem. They fought through rain and sleet, their horses dragging their hooves through slick mud. It was slow going. Again, the only thing keeping the two Assassins from giving up and waiting the winter out was their nights locked in a shivering embrace to stave off the cold. Neither spoke for they both knew if they did, arguments would arise that would pull them apart. So they remained in silence for the seven day journey, taking what comfort they could from one another.

The morning of the final day of their journey brought them to a path carved into the side of a gradually sloping valley. The path here was a muddy mess, torn deep by the wooden wheels of traveling carts. The two Assassins rode with Malik in front, Altaїr close behind. The rain fell in sheets, obscuring all but the trail just before them. Malik braced himself against a gust of wind, howling through the canyon and whipping his torn, sopping cloak about his shoulders. He held onto the hood to keep it from falling, vaguely aware of the sound of clattering rocks.

It was the scream of a horse that made him turn. Through the veil of rain, it was all he could do to see the large shadow of a black horse as it disappeared beyond his sight, a flash of white on its flank telling of the man who fell with it.

The grip of fear struck hard and fast. "Altaїr!" His voice was lost in the howl of wind. Before he knew it, he was off of his horse and knee deep in mud and rocks, sliding down the slope the way the horse had done mere moments before. He continued his frantic calling of his partner's name. The screams of the horse had been silenced and a new wave of dismay overcame Malik. He pressed forward, slogging through the mud and rivers of water flowing down the slope with a renewed strength.

He wiped the rain from his eyes, though it did nothing to help to see. Everything around him was mud and mist. "Altaїr!" He continued calling, voice whipping away in the howling wind. Despairing, he continued on. His only thought was to find the man who had become so integral to his life, no matter how much he despised the idea. He had no mind for his own safety, as the earth could start flowing down the canyon at any moment. All at once, a hand burst through the mud, taking hold of the tails of his robes. Relief washed over Malik like the clearest spring. He grabbed at the hand, then the arm. He found the rest of the man soon enough, struggling to remove the lower half of his body from the slick sludge.

Both men pulled on one another until Altaїr's legs were free. The men stood, each still clutching to the other's arms. They slipped in the slick mud, the surface of it threatening to begin sliding once again.

"The horse-" Malik called over the wind, but Altaїr had already begun pulling him back up the slope.

"He is lost," Altaїr responded quickly.

Together they slipped and slogged their way back up to the path where Malik's mare stood nervously away from the edge. The two Assassins stopped, catching their breath after the struggle. Both of their white robes were now red-brown, any inch that may have been dry before was now coated in a thin layer of mud.

A hand was placed on Malik's shoulder. He turned to find those burning amber eyes staring at him from beneath the man's heavy hood. It was a silent thank you, for the words would never pass by the man's lips. Malik nodded before turning to his horse.

"We will have to ride double," he commented as he hoisted himself into the saddle. He offered a hand to his companion, which was taken. Altaїr was soon seated behind him, his front pressed firmly to Malik's back. The grip around him was perhaps too close, too tight, but he gave it no mind. Malik was simply too filled with relief at Altaїr's successful rescue to mind the intimate closeness out in the open.

Weighed down by two men, the mare walked even slower over the slick road. Malik steered her well away from the edge lest it decide to give way again. The next time they may not be so lucky.

When they finally passed through the stone archway marking the border of Masyaf, Malik released a long suffering sigh of relief. He turned to his companion behind him and caught a glance of a crooked smirk, Altaїr's face spattered and smeared with mud. Malik returned the expression, elbowing the man good naturedly. Before he could react, Altaїr was reaching out and grabbing a handful of his partner's cowl. He tugged him backwards, their lips meeting in a brief kiss. It was gritty with mud and wet from rain, but it warmed Malik to his core.

He pulled away from the embrace reluctantly, unsure if there were any sentries scouting the road. "Later," he promised softly, pushing the man away.

As if knowing their home was close, the horse picked up the pace and trotted with a newfound spirit up the sloping road. It was not long until the wooden gate loomed above them, the horse taking them directly to the stables. The stable hands nodded at them as they approached, eyes full of sympathy for their ragged, muddy appearance but equally concerned at the sight of only one mount. The two Assassins dismounted, taking a moment to stretch their tired muscles as they relayed what had become of Altaїr's stallion.

Their arrival was a stark contrast to the conclusion of their previous mission. This thought was not lost upon the pair. As Malik turned towards the fortress high above, Altaїr was at his side. Malik placed a companionable hand on his partner's shoulder, receiving a confirming nod in return. Wordlessly, they set out up the hill to convene with their Mentor. The faster they discussed their mission with Al Mualim, the faster they would be able to be warm and dry.

As they crossed the library to climb the steps to the Mentor's study, they caught a few glances of dismay from the scholars. No doubt they had tracked in mud and were dripping rain water all over the otherwise clean marble floor. It could not be helped.

"It appears that it is indeed a harsh winter in the south," Al Mualim said after observing the two Assassins' appearance. Although the rain had washed away some of the mud, their usually immaculately white robes were still streaked with red-brown earth. "Has the forced entry into the Crusader ranks come to an end?"

Altaїr nodded at this. "We found and ended the one issuing the orders. Rasul Qasim El-Amin was his name."

"He spoke of working for the Crusaders," Malik added. "But he also mentioned something that I can only interpret as his confession that the Templars are working for the Crusaders. Is this known?"

The old man sat at his desk and laced his fingers under his bearded chin. He looked troubled. "We know that Robert de Sable has been in communication with the leaders of the Crusaders." De Sable. Not much was known of him except that he was a fearsome fighter and one of the highest ranking leaders in the Knights Templar. He was said to be a giant among men. The Mentor addressed the two Assassins, staring at them with hard eyes. "Did he tell you anything else?"

Malik shook his head. "Only that he felt that the people should fight against Salah Al'din."

"The Templars will spread lies to get their brothers to do their bidding," Al Mualim said bitterly. "If that is all, then you are dismissed. You have had a long journey, so take rest."

The two Assassins bowed respectfully and made their way out of the library, back into the pouring rain. Malik looked to his partner and got a questioning glance in return.

Malik sighed, knowing just what was on his mind. It was anything but chaste. "Later, Altaїr. I must go home to see Kadar."

The partners parted ways, each seeking out their own residence. Malik's house was dark when he entered, the curtains drawn shut. His eyes fell to a piece of paper on the game board and he went to it. In his brother's messy scrawl, the message addressed to Malik was dated the previous day. Kadar had been sent on a mission to Alep and would return in a few days' time. Malik sighed and set to work stoking a fire under the stove to prepare dinner. Soon, the house was warm, the air smelling of rich spices.

Malik had changed out of his soaking robes and into dry clothes. He sat on the cushions of the main room with a needle and thread, sewing the tear in his rain cloak that had suffered in the fight in Jerusalem. He could have sent it away to be mended, but Malik always liked fixing his own clothing. His robes gave him pride, showing off his high rank and telling everyone around him how hard he had worked to achieve it.

There was a steady knock on the door, drawing Malik from his work. Opening the door revealed his partner standing just out of the rain, staring expectantly in.

"What are you doing here?" Malik's tone was not entirely inhospitable, but he still made no move to let the man in.

Altaїr stood, obviously waiting to be invited in. "I heard that Kadar is out on a mission."

"And you expect me to provide you with company?" His desire for the man made the question have a slight tease at the core, though his exhaustion made it come out much more harshly than he wanted.

That earned him an indifferent shrug. "If you do not want me-"

Quick to stop him, Malik raised a halting hand and spoke up. "No, stay. I was forgetful and I made enough dinner for two." He made a motion for Altaїr to enter, and he readily complied.

They ate in silence for a long moment, sitting on the cushions with their knees barely touching. They had grown used to confined spaces and the casual brush of one another had become second nature. It astounded Malik that he could be comfortable being this casually intimate with the man. For all of his years of having jealousy and animosity looming over his head, this change was stark to say the least.

Neither spoke of what had transpired on the muddy slope or of how Malik retrieved Altaїr from where he had fallen at the potential cost of his own person. Both had saved each other in equal measure on their journey. As partners this was expected and not something to give overt thanks for. It was relayed in the gentle glances they shared, in the soft brush of hands and later in the passionate tangle of limbs and lips.

Their conversation was sparse, superfluous to the unsaid communication buzzing between the two men. "This is much better than what they serve in the kitchens up at the fortress," Altaїr commented, taking yet another hearty bite of Malik's cooking.

"I had to provide for my brother, so I learned well," Malik replied cordially.

The two lapsed back into silence, comfortable with not conversing as they ate. It had become the norm for them, as they spoke little if at all during their days of journeying through the rain. Each was exhausted from their travels, but still willing to be in the other's company. Malik could feel his tiredness tugging at his irritability, but he forcefully pushed it aside. He had no energy to carry out any kind of conflict.

They finished their meal in due time, setting aside their bowls.

Altaїr leaned towards his partner with a questioning eyebrow raised. "Is it 'later' yet?"

Malik repressed the smirk threatening to overtake him. The man must have been trying his best to hold back ever since they had returned to Masyaf. "You think I will let you stay?" He teased.

The man crawled forward, eyes burning with only one desire. The advance sent a chill down Malik's spine and he subconsciously leaned forward at the approach. "Would you make me go back out into the rain?"

Overcome with need, Malik could not help but slide a hand over the man's shoulder, gripping fingers digging into the muscles there. "Do not put it past me. It is well within my capability."

Those amber eyes seared through him. "But not in your desire."

"Not at all," Malik breathed onto those tauntingly close scarred lips. He pulled away reluctantly and stood, Altaїr quick to follow suit. Malik snuffed out the lamps that lit the room and took up the remaining candle. He pressed past the door leading to his modestly adorned bedroom. Small as it was, it felt cozy. When Altaїr drew himself in, the walls seemed to close in further around the two men. The candle sent dancing shadows across the tapestries draped over the plaster walls, to help insulate from the cold.

There were hands at his waist, lips at his neck. Malik was barely able to set the candle down before he was overtaken, the wandering and groping hands making him lose all cognitive thought. Malik retaliated in kind, turning and fighting with the man to gain more access to skin. The struggle was meek between the two, neither putting much muscle into it. Neither had much energy to give after their week of travel and hardship.

Malik was the one to finally press the man down onto his bed; most of their clothes open or off at this point. He pressed breathy kisses onto the man's bare chest, careful to avoid the healing scabs from the battle in that dark room of the manor in Jerusalem. Altaїr grabbed at whatever skin he could, encouraging the soft touches.

The wanton gropes and caressing kisses slowly softened, waves of tiredness overtaking the two Assassins. Malik came to rest his head against the other man's chest, encircled in his strong arms that held him so gently. One arm left the embrace and the candle was snuffed, plunging the room into darkness. A blanket was pulled over his shoulders then, cutting off the slight chill that still hung in the room. The rain fell softly beyond the covered window as the two men succumbed to the exhaustion of the past days of travel, enveloped in each other's protective and comforting arms.

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**End Notes:** This chapter has an alternate title: That One Time when Altaїr Fell in the Mud.

Psst... you guys should leave reviews and stuff. Yeah.

Stay tuned for next week's exciting chapter: Chapter 19, Sinister in Suggestion!


	19. Sinister in Suggestion

Chapter 19: Sinister in Suggestion

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Two brothers regarded one another, the elder more than a little surprised to see the younger home so soon. In fact, he was more stricken with panic than surprised. Three days had passed since Malik and Altaїr had returned from Jerusalem. It was early morning and Malik had returned from spending the night in Altaїr's bed. He had opened the door to his house to find Kadar eating a hearty breakfast in the main room of their house. Malik had tried to make it seem as though he had woken early that morning and he was returning now, but judging by the quirk to Kadar's eyebrow, his little brother knew better.

Kadar's tone was carefully neutral when he spoke. "When did you get back?"

Malik sat opposite him and picked a bite off of his plate. "The day after you left, if the date on your note is correct." It had only been three days. Malik had thought it would have taken at least two more for his brother to return, especially in this weather. Perhaps the rain was not so harsh in the north. "You got back just now?"

"No, last night." Kadar paused a moment, appearing to think over his words before he voiced them. "When I returned, you were not in your bed. Where were you?"

Malik caught himself before he flinched at the accusatory statement. A string of curses ran through his head as he quickly tried to cover his tracks. "I was nowhere."

A knowing smirk suddenly spread across his younger brother's cheeks. It was as if he had been waiting for the opportunity to confront him about this. "Were you out practicing in the rain or were you visiting someone?" If he had been practicing all that time, he would have been much wetter and spattered with mud from the sparring field. Malik was quite dry, as he had only just run from the residence of his partner back to his own house. This detail was not lost upon Kadar and Malik knew he would be unable to dissuade his brother from prying.

It took all of Malik's composure to keep himself from turning on the spot and leaving the conversation. He should not know, _could_ not know. "Your eyes must have deceived you." It was a poor counter and both brothers knew it.

Kadar rolled his eyes, annoyance flaring up. In that motion Malik saw some of himself. "You think I have not heard you sneaking off late at night? I am not so unskilled that I cannot hear it."

"It is not your business," Malik said definitively, averting his gaze as he spoke.

His brother was insistent. "Not my business that my own brother has a secret lover?"

Malik snapped. He glared daggers at Kadar and was met with a challenging, smirking stare. "_It is not your business_."

"What is her name?" At that question, Malik stood abruptly, unwilling to continue with the conversation. Kadar was having altogether too much fun, only adding to Malik's embarrassed fury. "Is it Fatima's daughter?" Not answering, Malik turned and stalked out the front door.

Flustered and at a loss, he made his way up the hill to the library. He had gotten a lot more information from his students to put on his new maps while he had been away in Jerusalem. The past days had been spent catching up on this work.

He set quill to paper, trying to put the disastrous encounter with his brother from his mind. He had been so _careful_ to be quiet, and now he could not help but feel that he was in jeopardy. He hated lying to his brother, hated withholding information from him. But this was for the good of not only Kadar, but for the safety of both Malik and Altaїr. Their acts may not be punishable by death in Masyaf, but that would not stop others from doing the duty themselves. Malik growled softly to himself, pressing a palm to his forehead. No matter how hard he tried, the thoughts still flooded in.

A presence approaching from behind drew his attention. He turned just as a voice made itself known, soft in the damp haze of the library.

"Al-Sayf," he was addressed by a man with a cruel twist to his brow.

"Abbas," Malik greeted him cordially. There was a veiled threat to the way the man carried himself. Just the air around him felt slick with mistrust.

"I come to you as a friend with a warning." Abbas was right to the point. Malik raised a questioning brow. As the man continued, Malik's stomach dropped deeper and deeper in apprehension. "We once had a common enemy, which you seem to have turned into a friend. I should warn you to not trust Altaїr." The man suddenly turned a new leaf and seethed, fists clenching at his sides. "He is a liar." Malik grew more wary by the second as the man continued. "He has tried to use his words and actions to further his own cause, and he will not hesitate to do so again. Stay clear of him, Al-Sayf. To be in his company is to invite treachery."

Malik regarded the man standing before him, letting his words sink in. His response was carefully neutral. "Why are you telling me this, Abbas?"

"We are brothers in arms, Malik." His name on the man's lips sounded like honeyed poison.

"And so is Altaїr," Malik countered. This brought a renewed flash of anger to Abbas's eyes.

"I am not so sure," he said darkly. "Take my advice and stay away from the man." With that, he departed abruptly, leaving Malik with far too many questions on his mind. He set back to work with even more thoughts threatening to overtake him.

It was late afternoon when he finally gave up trying to be productive. Knowing that Altaїr would be done with his daily training, he set out down the hill towards his partner's abode.

He simply pressed past the door and found the man lounging among the cushions spread about in the corner. Altaїr cracked an eye, a brief smile passing his lips.

"You are early today," he observed lazily, not bothering to sit up. "Couldn't stay away for long, could you?"

Malik fidgeted where he stood. "Shut up," he teased half-heartedly.

This drew the full attention of the other Assassin. He sat up, brow drawn together. "Something troubles you."

Sighing, Malik ran an agitated hand through his short hair. "I had a troubling conversation with Abbas today." As soon as he said the name, Altaїr's expression became stony.

"What did he want?"

"For me to stay away from you," Malik answered shortly, softly. He sank to the cushions with a sigh, sitting opposite his partner. His eyes locked onto those calculating amber eyes that saw far more than they ought. "He called you a liar."

"That is nothing new," Altaїr said dismissively. "He has been calling me that for years."

"It has to do with the fight you two had in the sparring ring, does it not?" Altaїr scoffed at this, turning his gaze without answering. "I was there that day," Malik continued. "You kept telling Labib that he was trying to kill you-"

"He was," Altaїr cut him off softly.

Malik shook his head. None of it made sense. "Why would he want to? Why was he calling you a liar?"

"He was trying to protect the honor and memory of his father," Altaїr replied quietly, his gaze far away, looking upon a distant memory. After a long moment, he brought himself back and Malik felt those eyes settle on him once again. "His mind is living in a fantasy and his words hold no bearing. Do not let him trick you into turning to his side."

A flash of a smirk crossed Malik's cheeks. "You think I would turn against you?" His question was only half teasing, the other half quite serious.

The man cocked his head arrogantly. The gesture irked Malik, but he pushed the annoyance away. "I don't think you could if you tried," Altaїr replied smoothly, reaching out and hooking a finger underneath the wide belt about Malik's waist. He tugged him forward and their lips met, the touch lingering and reassuring. They both pulled away after a moment, Altaїr again gazing into Malik's eyes, digging to see what else was beyond that exterior of poise. "Something else is on your mind."

This brought a deep sigh from Malik. "Kadar is back. He arrived last night."

Altaїr shrugged. "You say that like it is a bad thing."

Agitated, Malik sat back and put his head in his palm. "My brother knows that I have been sneaking out at night."

That crooked smile was back on the man's scarred lips. "I told you that he has keen hearing. So what's the problem?" The man was not getting the gravity of the situation, or else he was baiting Malik.

"So he thinks that I have a _lover_," Malik practically spat the word. It was in no way how he would describe their relationship.

Altaїr cracked a broader grin and leaned forward once more, placing a kiss just below Malik's ear. "Don't you?"

"A _female_ lover," Malik clarified sharply, but his resolve was quickly melting at the soft proceedings of the other Assassin.

The man's voice was breathy by his ear. "So tell him."

Malik steeled, tongue sharp. "Oh, yes. Tell him that his own brother is intimate with his idol, whom I warn him to stay away from at every chance. That is bound to be reassuring and non-hypocritical."

Those scarred lips were close to his own once again, the soft voice reassuring. "You worry too much, Malik. You just need to get quieter at sneaking out," he smirked and pressed Malik back onto the cushions, touches advancing, "or let me sneak in."

Still caught up in his dilemma, Malik simply allowed the actions. There was still a slight annoyance that he could not rid himself of. Altaїr was pressing this away as a frivolous issue when it truly did worry Malik. "That would prove to be much more disturbing on his part. We are not exactly silent."

Altaїr's voice was heady as he whispered into his ear. "I could make you silent."

Malik rolled his eyes as the other man's hand continued wandering, groping at his thigh. "You are insufferable."

"Is that a yes?"

He pursed his lips in annoyance at that. Malik took a hold of the man's robe and pushed him away from his continued caressing of lips at his neck. He glared warningly at the smirking man before him. "If you ever sneak into my home, I swear I will not still my blade."

Altaїr shrugged in submission, never losing that air of arrogance. "To keep your secret or to tell is up to you. It makes no difference to me."

"This one is best kept from him," Malik replied decidedly. Now taking a more active role, he flipped the man back onto the cushions, assuming control. Malik thought upon the decisions he had made that revolved around this man as he sought out every point on his body that made Altaїr bite his lip and moan wantonly.

He was arrogant, fool hearty, reckless at times, and he deserved a good beat down on a regular basis to satisfy Malik's annoyance towards him. But he was also strong and held to his convictions. He was a tough one to crack, but once past his barriers and after filtering through his conceit, he was overwhelmingly earnest. Those moments were few and far between and Malik had to brace against his hubris on a regular basis. But when he was able to break through those airs, he found the man underneath to be one he could rely upon and care about.

Perhaps he did have a lover after all.

* * *

End Notes: Next time on Silent Discourse, the first time jump! Stay tuned for Chapter 20: Foreseen in Foreboding!


	20. Foreseen in Foreboding

Chapter 20: Foreseen in Foreboding

* * *

"Where have you been?" Malik whispered harshly to his partner, who was silently creeping towards him in the darkness of night. Campfires spread out below them in between a forest of tents as the two Assassins perched on the top of the wall surrounding the city of Acre.

In the dark, Malik could barely see the spatter of blood around the man's wrist, red dripping from his hidden blade. He had killed again. Malik bit back a scathing comment. The man had become less choosy when it came to who he killed and who he used stealth to get by. It was getting worse as time wore on; no matter how much Malik reprimanded him for it, Altaїr continued to do what he would.

A year and a half had passed them by in a rush of missions and travel. They were together on their missions as often as they could be and when they were not, the reunion was worth the time spent away.

They had been sent on a simple mission to Acre: to oversee the safe shipment of goods into the city. Food and supplies had been continuously stolen or marked off of the shipping ledger without getting to the recipient. It had appeared to be a simple task – too simple to have two high rank Assassins dealing with it. Though upon investigating the city, they had found where the supplies had been going and indeed that predicament did call for two highly trained men.

There was an army standing beyond the walls and it was preparing to march.

"There is no way to get into the encampment without being detected," Altaїr told his partner, easily sidestepping the question that had been asked. "They have very watchful sentries posted all around its borders."

Malik narrowed his gaze, frowning at the man. By now he knew what to expect and it was increasingly undesirable. "I assume that is whose blood is on your blade."

"They will not find his body," Altaїr replied, as if that made potentially causing a mass upheaval within the gathered army worth the death of one sentry.

"Altaїr, this army will not be taken down by a single man killing its leader."

"We do not even know who their leader is," Altaїr agreed. "They appear to be Saracens, but nothing they have done matches the battle strategy usually used by them. In that regard, I would think that they were Crusaders." Altaїr thought this out loud as he gazed down on the expanse of campfires and tents. There had to be at least two hundred of them, with each tent holding two or more men. It was an army put together to lay siege and occupy whatever their destination was.

Malik shook his head, putting the man's reckless action aside for the moment. "If they were Crusaders, then the Saracens in the city would be preparing to defend it. Everything is quiet, as if they do not even know that the army is just beyond this wall. I fear there is something more going on here, but we have no way of infiltrating the camp to get more information." He thought upon the sparse information that he had gleaned that day in the streets of Acre and relayed it to his partner. "The Saracen guards know nothing of the army, or they are reluctant to speak of it. Something is keeping them quiet."

Altaїr nodded at this new information. "We will have to follow the army to see where it is going. When we get back to the Bureau we must write to Al Mualim and tell him of this." This was agreed upon and soon the two Assassins were leaping from rooftop to rooftop by the light of the sliver of a moon. It was always a race to get back to the Bureau, to see who could best the other in a trial of agility. The two had grown used to testing one another, improving their skill one trial at a time. They were just as equally matched as they had always been, both learning at the same rate.

They arrived at the Bureau rooftop entrance at the same time. They caught their breath, flashing one another challenging smirks. Altaїr pulled Malik into a brief kiss, seeming to congratulate him for yet another tie. In response, Malik pulled him in tight, drawing their lips together once again.

It was biting, Malik still holding a slight annoyance for the man's actions. The two men drew away from the embrace, Altaїr with a questioning brow raised. "What was that for?"

"For keeping up with me, what else?" Malik replied with a half truth. The truth was that when they were not in Masyaf, their freedom to share in intimacy was constantly in jeopardy. It was only in moments like these, when they were cloaked in night, that Malik felt safe enough to share in an embrace with his partner. No matter how much the man annoyed him or went against his ideologies, Malik found it impossible to resist his bodily urges towards him.

It was a dangerous game that they played, stealing kisses in territory where the action could mean a sentence of death. The two men brought death to others on a regular basis, though. If they were caught by anyone outside the Brotherhood, they had agreed early on that the death of one was worth keeping their own lives. If they were caught by one of their Brothers, however, they would have to take a different course of action. This had spurred a continuing argument between the two men that never was resolved.

"I was holding back so that you would not feel bad for losing," Altaїr replied, a joking quirk to his lips. "If I have to keep holding back for you, why are you here?" The jest was not lost upon Malik and he met it with an amused smirk.

"I have to keep an eye on you, lest you seek out another bed to warm."

Altaїr seemed slightly taken aback. "You think I would?" It was half teasing, half uncertain.

Malik drew their lips so they were almost touching, tone more than a little seductive. "I have no doubt."

"You force me again to prove you wrong, as in all things," Altaїr breathed in response, hands groping. It was lucky the moon was so dark, for if anyone could see them they would have been unable to explain away their position.

"Good," Malik growled and they were lost in one another's biting and needy mouths.

They pulled away from one another, neither satisfied with that simple exchange. It would have to do, however. They dropped into the Bureau and made their way into the office, lit with a single lamp for their return. It was empty, the Rafiq already in his quarters. The two Assassins approached the pigeon coop but fell short of it as a realization came upon them.

"The birds are asleep." Malik could have kicked himself for not thinking of that detail. "We will have to send the message tomorrow."

Altaїr shrugged, stretching as he yawned. "There is nothing we can do until then but sleep as well."

Soon the two were stretched out on the cushions beneath the covered patio, stars spreading out on the dark sky beyond the grate. They assumed their usual sleeping position while away from Masyaf, both facing the other with arms draped over the other's waist. It was a loose embrace, enough to satisfy their need for closeness but far enough away that if one heard someone approach, it would only require a swift turn to break away.

* * *

"It's gone."

Those two words dropped like stones into Malik's stomach. "What do you mean, 'gone'?" His tone was harsh, the informant shrinking away just slightly as if he were the one to do the wrong. Perhaps he had, Malik did not know.

"By the look of it, they left last night," the young man continued. He could not have been over fourteen, a tall and straggly thing.

"Who was to keep watch last night? Why did we learn this just now?" The Rafiq's tone was by far more civil than Malik's, seeming to give the benefit of the doubt to the young man. Altaїr simply sat, waiting for the information. They were all gathered in the Bureau office, the hot noon sun driving them indoors.

The young informant stuttered and stumbled over his words, his mutterings incoherent. At this Altaїr swept to his feet in a silent fluid motion. The youth flinched and turned in his direction, assuming the worst was to come for the news that he brought of the army's disappearance.

The Assassin paid no attention to the young man, addressing Malik and the Rafiq. "It does not matter who is at fault right now. We must follow the army to see where it is marching." He then turned to the informant. "Were there signs showing which way it was headed?"

The youth nodded eagerly, the fear dissipating for the moment. "North."

"North?" Malik pondered over this. "Where could they be going? Damascus, Tripoli?"

The Rafiq shook his head, at a loss as well. He turned to the two Assassins. "You must depart at once to catch up to them. I will send another bird to Masyaf with this update." With that, he turned to his desk and began scrawling a message. Malik turned to Altaїr and they wordlessly agreed on a course of action, leaving the office and gathering their travel bags.

Soon they were outside the high walls of Acre. They turned north and instantly knew that their path would be an easy one to follow. The army left the landscape scarred and trampled where they marched, consuming all in its path like some ravenous creature.

They rode until night fell, still seeing no sign of the marching army but what destruction lay in its wake.

The two Assassins made a quick camp, the fire small in case the army had scouts. It was a precaution that Malik had insisted on. They did not know how far away the army was; it could be just up the road, but there was no way of knowing. It was dangerous to travel on horseback at night with only a sliver of the moon to light their way. They had no choice but to stop their pursuit until sunrise.

The next day brought them upon a continued destroyed road. The compacted, dusty path had been torn up by hundreds of boots and horse's hooves. What foliage had grown there had been either trampled or cut away. Trees had been cut and hauled away by the army to be used in building siege weapons.

Malik's suspicion continued to grow when they reached a fork in the road. The one on the left would lead to Tripoli on the coast and the one on the right cut inland towards Damascus. It was the road to the north along the coast that was torn and ravaged.

"They continued north," Malik mused, then cursed. "I wish we knew the allegiance of this army or at least who commands it."

Altaїr pulled his horse towards the torn road ahead. "There is nothing to do but to continue. They were a half day ahead of us and there is still no sign of the army yet. We must move faster if we are to catch up to them."

With that, they continued on with all due haste. As night fell upon the dry landscape, the two Assassins thought that the trail had become fresher. The army was moving very quickly, most likely traveling far into the night with the aid of lanterns and torches. While Altaїr and Malik moved faster during the day on horseback, they could not travel at night, especially with the moon at its darkest. Regardless of this, they were slowly catching up, it seemed.

The fourth day of travel came upon them with still more destroyed road ahead.

They pressed on until nightfall, still seeming to not come closer to the barreling army ahead.

They slept uneasily, holding one another close to keep off the chill of what the next day might bring. They were awoken well before the dawn, however.

All at once, they woke and lunged from their comfortable embrace, dodging the blade that cut through the night towards them. The two Assassins were on the attacker at once, Malik restraining his arms and Altaїr pressing his engaged hidden blade to his throat.

The man's surprise at his swift apprehension quickly melted into fury. "You sleep as a man and wife," he spat, glaring daggers at the man in front of him and trying to twist from Malik's grip. He was trying to shock the two into giving in just enough for him to slip away. It was a desperate move and was wholeheartedly ignored.

Malik only twisted the man's arms further. "You are a scout of the army. What is your affiliation?"

The scout again tried to wrench himself away, but found the arms restraining him unrelenting. He spat at Altaїr, the phlegm landing in the dry dust at his feet. "Are all you Assassins filthy sodomites?"

Malik's stomach dropped. This man would not live to pass on his observation that night. Turning the subject away from more personal matters, he turned to the newly revealed information gleaned from that comment. "You are Templars. Where are you headed?" He needed no answer, for he already knew.

A cold smile crossed the scout's face, barely discernible in the dark of night. "They will have broken through your walls far before you arrive."

The two Assassins exchanged a look, brows drawn. Altaїr was quick to silence the scout, drawing his blade across the man's throat in one easy motion. Malik in turn dragged the body away and out of sight, leaving it behind a shriveled shrub.

Altaїr was waiting for him when Malik returned, his arms crossed and in deep thought. "They are marching on Masyaf," he said darkly.

"They will get there by tomorrow morning if they are traveling by night." Malik cursed sharply. "We will not return until the afternoon and that is if we travel our fastest." He paced, steps quick and stiff.

Altaїr's response was reaffirming. "Masyaf is strong. They can withstand an army without us."

Malik ran an agitated hand through his hair. "They do not know it is coming for them. I just hope they did not intercept our messenger pigeon."

The other Assassin sighed, placing a hand lightly on Malik's shoulder to still his pacing. He did so, allowing Altaїr to push him in the direction of their sleeping mat. "There is nothing to do now but rest and gather our strength."

Malik clenched his teeth, shoving the man's hand from his shoulder. "How can you think of rest when-"

Altaїr never let him finish. He bodily grabbed Malik and before he could respond had wrestled him to the ground atop their sleeping mat. Malik struggled against the grip about him until one word made him pause.

"Malik."

The tone was both commanding and calming, immediately stilling him. He took in a deep breath and exhaled, using it to bring down his racing heart. The arms about him lost their tight grip, but remained in place. Altaїr buried his nose in Malik's short black hair and breathed with him.

The clench of worry never wore off, Malik's senses hyperaware after their discovery. He found himself drifting off as he listened to the soft noises of the night, at first trying to keep sleep at bay. Eventually he succumbed, enveloped in his partner's soothing, protective embrace.

* * *

End Notes: Whoop, first time jump!

You got this chapter bit early because I'm leaving for San Fransisco tomorrow to go to GaymerX! For everyone who doesn't know, that's a convention for us peeps who happen to be queer gamers. If you happen to be going then WOAH small world! I'll be cosplaying as Kid Loki and I'll also be volunteering and such.

Next time on Silent Discourse, there will be BLOOD. Stay tuned for next week's exciting installment, Chapter 21: Siege in Stronghold!


	21. Siege in Stronghold

Chapter 21: Siege in Stronghold

* * *

The gates lay in ruins among strewn bodies both with red sashes and red crosses. The two swiftly approaching Assassins could hear the din of battle over the pounding of their horses' hooves as they galloped up to the broken gates, dodging bodies left and right. What they saw before them both brought horror and fury to the two men.

Houses were burning; citizens lay where they were slaughtered in the street. Fallen Brothers lay beside the men they themselves had killed before being overwhelmed. This was not a siege. It was a purge.

The two quickly dispatched a man attacking two of their Brothers. Altaїr dismounted to help one of the men to his feet, but another worry drove Malik onward.

"Altaїr," he called to his partner as he too dismounted. "I must find Kadar." Without waiting for a response, Malik drew his sword and broke into a run. He dodged around the corpses of fallen men and women, heading towards the sound of fighting.

He found the first of many battles soon enough. Four Brothers were up against five Templar knights, though the Assassins were of a low rank and the knights fully armored. Without breaking pace, Malik drove his sword into the back of the first knight. He only stopped to withdraw his bloodied sword, turning to the next knight. He took him by surprise as well, cutting through the back of his neck. He could feel the grind of bone as he sliced.

The other three Templars turned when they heard the new commotion. One was brought down by his Assassin opponent as his attention was averted, but the other two made for Malik. He was quick to dispatch them, fueled by the fear for his brother's life.

The Assassin standing before him looked at him with wide, horrified eyes. He was young enough to never have seen a battle before this one. No matter how much the younger Assassins were told of the horrors of war, nothing prepared them enough to live it.

Malik recognized the young man from looking upon Kadar's training lessons. They were of an age, in the same rank. "Have you seen Kadar?" Malik asked him insistently, keeping the worry from his voice.

"He was- he was," the young man stumbled over his words, shaking.

"Speak!" Malik barked at him. This appeared to knock the youth out of his daze.

"I saw him in the East quarter," he replied quickly.

Without giving any sort of acknowledgment, Malik turned on the spot and headed up the hill to the east. He heard more sounds of battle and ran faster.

He came upon three men locked in battle. Two Templars and one man wearing the short gray robes of a low rank Brother. Malik's chest clenched. He would recognize that man anywhere.

In a cool and calculated move, Malik drew his blade across the back of one of the knight's knees. With a cry, the man fell forward, but was caught by Malik's unrelenting hand. Looking already to his next target, he drove the tip of his sword down behind the man's neck and into his chest cavity, bypassing the chain mail he wore. Leaving his sword sheathed in the man to be retrieved later, Malik sprung upon the next. He engaged his hidden blade and was upon the man before the Templar could turn to see what had come of his comrade.

As the man fell, Malik turned to his brother, who stood with his blade in a shaking hand. His eyes were wide, brow drawn. His robes were spattered with blood. He looked to have been fighting for hours and he probably had.

Malik drew Kadar into a fierce, crushing embrace, allowing himself a brief wash of relief. He was alive.

He eventually released his brother, staring into those eyes that were the perfect reflection of his own. "Kadar, what has happened?"

His brother shook his head. "It happened so fast. They came upon our walls early this morning. I was in the practice ring when we heard the bell toll. We were caught off guard and the Templars seemed to know just how to break down our defense. When they began invading the village, they called us all down to defend it. It's useless, Malik!" He began shaking again and he dropped his sword. "They have gotten into the fortress and they have hostages."

Malik grasped his brother's shoulders. "Do you know who is leading the army?"

"I overheard some of our men saying that he was one of us, but now turned traitor."

Malik clenched his teeth. That was how the army knew exactly where to go and exactly how to strike. They kept the location of the canyon leading to the gates a secret to anyone outside the Brotherhood. This army had gone directly to the source. "We must defend Masyaf as best we can. Fight by me, Kadar."

With that the two brothers, swords in hand once more, continued up the hill. They came upon a raging battle, their Assassin Brothers outnumbered by Templar soldiers. They added their blades to the fray, felling their enemies as their own Brothers fell as well. With the extra help, the Assassins prevailed in that one battle. The still able men continued up the path. Malik was about to follow when a young man sitting against a wall caught his eye.

The recognition burnt a hole in Malik's chest. He knew the young man, but he also knew the stone white face of the limp and bloodied man he held in his lap.

Malik turned to his own brother and motioned for him to follow the other Assassins.

His approach was not noticed by the youth and still not when he knelt by him. As he reached a hand out to place on his shoulder, the young man moved with the feral speed of one frightened for his life. Malik was barely able to lunge back far enough to miss the blade that blurred between them. In a swift move, Malik caught the wrist that held the short, curved knife.

Those shocked, grief stricken eyes turned up towards him, recognition passing through the young man's gaze. He dropped the blade, suddenly overcome with a chilling pallor, chin slumping to his chest.

"Naji," Malik said softly, trying to bring his young student from his daze.

Haunted eyes turned towards him once again, the voice uttered a mere ghost. "It is no longer just rain." He was so lost, voice so thin. Malik's heart felt heavy with those words, a reflection of the lesson he had given the two on that rainy morning only a year and a few months previously.

"Be strong, Naji." Malik continued relaying calmness to his pupil. "Remember your training. Stay alive, keep fighting. There will be a time for mourning, but it is not now." He gripped the young man's wrist more firmly and was met with no resistance. He stood and pulled Naji to his feet, the limp body of Tariq rolling heavily to the ground with a sickening thump. A pang of grief struck Malik, but he could not dwell on it.

Swallowing back a moan of his own despair, he focused on the wavering youth before him. "Fight beside me, and remember that we not only fight for our home and for our Brothers, but for the peace of humanity." He felt like he was reassuring himself as much as his student. Naji was still looking mournfully at the body of his comrade and friend, seeming to not hear. Malik placed a steadying hand on his shoulder and continued. "Do not let his death cloud your judgment. He would want you to be strong."

This brought a hint of a mirthless smile to Naji's face. "He would want to kick me for not getting back at the man who took him down."

Malik pulled a weak but fond smile to his lips. "Indeed he would. Now go help our Brothers drive the Templars out of the town and back into the canyon."

Without a second glance at the body of his former student, Malik continued up the hill towards the fortress.

He fought his way through two more groups of Assassins fighting Templars, aiding where he could before making his way still higher towards the fortress. That is where Altaїr would be heading, to the heart of the battle.

The high gray walls of the stronghold rose before him, the looming and intimidating height now imposing itself upon those who used to protect it. It once was a comforting sight, but now that there were Templars swarming inside it felt diseased and wrong. At the foot of the wall were villagers, bodies twisted and bloodied from the fall that they had suffered at the hands of the army. They had been hostages, pushed from the top of the wall like so many bails of waste.

Malik's gaze fell upon the closed gate that led to the courtyard and discerned a familiar figure cloaked in white. He was yelling through the fortification and a voice was calling back, a tone of victory in his rough voice.

The conversation had just ended when Malik make his cautious approach. Altaїr stood, every muscle clenched and ready to spring into action. Sensing Malik's approach, he turned to his partner, face set in determination.

"It is Haras," he said, voice as tight as his posture. "They have Al Mualim and a number of others."

"Haras? He is one of our newest Brothers. What were his demands?" Malik asked of his partner, who had turned once again to look through the gate.

"None," was the reply. He glanced upwards and Malik followed the path the other's gaze passed by. There were rough boards attached to the outer wall just beside the gate. They formed a perfect stealthy path to the top of the battlement.

A sense of great foreboding fell upon Malik as he came to realize Altaїr's plan. "You are not thinking of infiltrating the fortress alone."

"It is the only way." There was a cry that echoed across the walls beyond the gate. They were killing the hostages one by one and every moment they hesitated would bring another Brother to his death. If only they had more time to think of a new plan.

"This is madness, Altaїr!" Malik hissed between clenched teeth, making sure to keep his voice low enough for those inside the fortress to not hear. "If they see you, Al Mualim will be the first they kill."

Burning amber eyes turned upon him, the decision already long set. "He will die also if nothing is done."

Malik suddenly thought upon the studies that he had taken in when he was younger. There may be another way; the trick was convincing the other Assassin. "We could flank around the backside of the fortress. There is a hidden path; we could take them by surprise."

Just as Malik finished his suggestion there was a second cry and a distant thud as another one of their Brothers met his end with the bolt of a crossbow through his chest.

"There is no time," Altaїr said quickly, turning without waiting for a response.

With that, he kicked his way up to the first ledge, hoisting himself up the boards secured to the outer wall. Malik knew to stay silent and not call up to him. Stealth would need to be on Altaїr's side and if anything gave him away, all would be lost.

Malik took a step back, defeated. Once again, their fate rested in the hands of Altaїr. If it were any other task, Malik would have the utmost faith in his partner. Stealthy infiltration and silent deaths were not his strong suit.

There was a hand at his shoulder, quickly drawing his attention away. Kadar stood at his side, his gray robes spattered with the blood of battle. He looked to be exhausted but unharmed. "What is happening, Malik?"

"Idiocy," Malik answered through clenched teeth. He focused suddenly on the words that Haras was yelling across the yard. Something about Al Mualim knowing where an artifact was? None of the traitor's ramblings made sense to him, and whatever he was asking for was never given by Al Mualim.

Malik discerned a flash of white beyond the gate and he almost called out to Altaїr to stop, but doing so would only give him away sooner. He was too hasty, too reckless. He leapt into the air and struck his target, the single cry piercing the thick silence.

The courtyard exploded into chaos.

Swords clashed, men yelled, and the gate was opened. Before it even got above his head, Malik ducked underneath the heavy gate and added his sword to the fray. The Templars were few here, the main force still in the town. They fell easily. As the last man met his end, Al Mualim called over the courtyard of battle weary Assassins.

"Go secure the town, drive the Templars away!"

There was an affirming ripple through the few Assassins who had managed to fight their way to the fortress and dispatch the Templars there. They turned to do as they were bid, Malik following. He stopped, however, and set eyes upon Altaїr. He stood on high with Al Mualim at his side. Despite the distance between them, Malik could feel his amber eyes piercing into his chest. Malik simply set his teeth and turned as the other man averted his attention back to their Mentor.

No doubt their Mentor wanted to condone Altaїr's reckless and selfish actions. Malik took heart in the thought. It had been too long that Al Mualim allowed Altaїr to be so carefree in his techniques. Malik had tried and failed to change the man, to make him see the error of his ways. If anything, his words had been ignored and the behavior redoubled. It was this that made Malik hate how he needed the intimacy of the man, hated how much pleasure he got from making love to him.

Shoving the thoughts from his mind, he added his waning strength to that of his Brothers. It was not long until they had the Templars in full retreat, driving them into the canyon and well beyond it. Malik walked with his fellow Assassins back up the hill towards the shattered gates, the straggling and broken army long gone. Kadar was at his side once more, feet dragging with fatigue. An overwhelming pride spread through Malik's chest for his brother. Perhaps he did have the strength to hold his own in the Brotherhood. It was this moment that Malik began questioning his hesitancy to let Kadar rise within the ranks of the Assassins. It had been for his protection, but now he realized that he had only been holding his brother back.

Kadar had become a man that day. At sixteen years he had seen and survived a true battle. It was time for Malik to let go of his little brother and accept him as a man.

They came upon the town, the villagers who had managed to hide away already hard at work putting out the fires that the army had started.

Others had begun to deal with the corpses strewn about. They made a pile of the Templar bodies to be burned; as invaders, they deserved no better treatment. The citizens of Masyaf who had lost their lives as well as the Assassins who had died valiantly in battle were laid in neat rows. They would be put to rest with the proper rituals and mourning they were due.

They had barely cleared half of the corpses when the sun began to set. Already far beyond the point of exhaustion, Malik excused himself from the gritty work to rest for the evening, Kadar following him. The villagers would continue gathering the bodies by torchlight until they were all together. Only then would Masyaf sleep, kept safe by vigilant lookouts at the broken gate.

In his bed, Malik twisted and turned beneath his light summer blanket. Thoughts of the battle plagued his mind, guilt that he should not feel over the death of his student. But most of all he was sorely missing strong, protective arms about him and missed holding the man in return. He was not dependent on that arrogant ass, Malik told himself before he forced himself to clear his thoughts.

He did not need the man, but he desired him with every fiber of his body.

* * *

End Notes: Poor Malik doesn't know what he wants. Either that or he doesn't want to admit it to himself.

Stay tuned for next week's exciting installment of Silent Discourse - Chapter 22: Master in Masyaf!


	22. Master in Masyaf

If you want to read the full smutty chapter, go to my profile and click the link!

* * *

Chapter 22: Master in Masyaf

* * *

"Together we protected our home, preserved our fortress." Al Mualim's voice carried over the heads of the gathered Assassins, standing proud but weary from the three days of burials and rebuilding of the town. "We have all suffered losses and for that we will mourn. Through their deaths, we will become stronger. Do not forget our fallen Brothers; do not let the anger of their deaths fuel your actions to rage. We rise again as we always have against the Templars."

This was met with a silent acknowledgement across the training field. Some men nodded solemnly, others hid their anger in the shadow of their hoods. Malik thought upon his former student who he had buried that morning alongside many other fallen young Assassins. He was not angry, only disquieted by the number of young men who had lost their lives.

In a battle they had planned for, only the most experienced Assassins would have been sent out to fight. In the chaos of the surprise attack, every available Brother had added their blade to the fray. Far too many youths had given their lives needlessly, but the ones who survived had received honorary promotions in their rank.

"For all of our sacrifice and heroism, there was one man who stood above all." Malik was jolted from his reminiscing by those booming words of their Mentor. His heart dropped progressively lower into his stomach as he continued. "When our situation was dire, he did what no other could have done. He broke through the Templar's defenses, rescued his captured Brothers and prevented my own death."

For the first time in those three days, Malik's gaze fell upon the man who walked up from behind Al Mualim. What was happening? Their Mentor was going to punish him for his recklessness, was he not? Malik had assumed as much, but the reality of Al Mualim's decision proved to be the opposite.

"In the wake of this tragic event, a new hope came to us. My Brothers, join me in the courtyard for the ceremony of the elevation of Altaїr Ibn-la'Ahad to the position of Master Assassin."

In the silence following this announcement, there was a wake of surprised murmurings, of nods and bows of respect. Malik simply stood, unable to move, unable to react.

He did it. He had finally achieved his goal, and yet again Malik was left behind.

The jealousy that he had not felt since he had become a full Assassin of the same rank as Altaїr returned with a vengeance. His sight became dark with it, fury simmering in his chest.

As the crowd followed Al Mualim and the Master Assassin into the library and from there to the courtyard beyond, Malik pushed his way against it. Just the thought of watching the man achieve the goal that Malik had been working twice as hard to achieve brought a sick feeling to his stomach.

He mindlessly walked down the hill towards the village, blind to everything but the path before him. Altaїr was being rewarded for his reckless, selfish, arrogant acts once again. Malik respected Al Mualim in many ways, but his unconditional love for Altaїr was where he drew the line. He appeared to never see his faults, where Malik had to almost fight to see the good beneath them. There was a fine line between respect and adoration and their Mentor had crossed it. Whether that was a good decision on his part was yet to be seen.

Malik may have had his vision muddied by jealousy, but he foresaw little improvement. Having others at his level appeared to humble Altaїr, making him in part bearable. Now there was no one to look up to but their own aging Mentor. He would never look up to a Dai, even though they were technically of a higher rank than Master. Those esteemed scholars were few and far between and always held less respect in the arrogant Assassin's mind. In his mind, he was on the top, in the highest rank with the highest level of skill.

Malik cursed under his breath, stalking through the village blindly, paying no mind to where his feet brought him. When he finally came to his senses, he found himself at the doorstep of his partner's abode. He cursed once more. It had become so routine for him to visit Altaїr's house that he automatically went there instead of his own home. In the beginning, Kadar had called him out on being absent but as time went on he gave up asking questions. Malik simply dodged around the truth, Kadar eventually growing frustrated with the lack of answers and stopped asking.

He sighed and pressed the door open, struck with the overly familiar scent of leather and blade polishing oil. This had become the sanctuary for the two Assassins; a place for them to be in one another's company without fear of onlookers, a place to make love.

It was here he sat, among the cushions where the two had joined as one countless times over the past two years. This was where they wrestled and struggled for dominance over the other, embraced and gave in to their carnal desires.

Sitting there without the other man made the space seem too large, too stuffy. All the cracks in the walls from the foundation settling became more apparent as Malik looked on. It was hardly perfect, but it was the best the two had. Rather like their relationship, he thought bitterly.

It must have been an hour that he waited, but it felt like much longer. There were steady footsteps at the door, making Malik's heart give a leap in his chest. He cursed his reaction to his partner's approach, cursed again as his heart continued lifting as the door was opened. A bright stream of light fell upon the floor, the man casting a stoic shadow in the middle of it.

Malik stood stiffly as the door was shut, hard gaze set upon the man. His chest gripped as Altaїr turned towards him, the room appearing darker than it had before the bright light. Malik's gaze flickered to the new belt the man wore about his waist. It was twice as broad as his former belt, adorned with intricate decorations and pouches. Malik sneered at this new addition to the man's wardrobe.

Sensing the animosity thrown in his direction, Altaїr stepped delicately in Malik's direction. He kept his tone carefully neutral. "I did not see you at my ceremony."

Malik matched the tone, forcing down his urge to cause bodily harm to him. "That is because I did not attend."

Altaїr drew his brows together, taking another tentative step forward. "I had expected you to be there. I wanted you there."

That made Malik snap. He allowed his animosity to flow freely, barely able to restrain his fists, which he kept clenched at his sides. "Why, so you could revel in your own glory knowing that I looked on?" At this, Altaїr looked taken aback. Malik seethed, his voice dark and hissing with acrimony. "All of my life I have dreamed of becoming a Master Assassin. I have worked long and hard just to reach where I am now. Seeing you gain the title with such ease sickens me."

"I cannot help that I am skilled, Malik." It was meant to be calming, but the words only served to enflame Malik's rage.

He threw his inhibitions to the wind, not caring for the other's wellbeing any longer. He wanted the man to hurt, to make him feel as much pain as he was experiencing.

"You selfish-"

In a flash, his fist slammed into Altaїr's cheek, the man having no chance to dodge the furious attack. The thud brought a bloom of satisfaction to Malik, the pain in his knuckles from the blow a sweet thing.

"Arrogant-"

As Altaїr recovered from the shock, Malik next struck his shoulder with an open palm, making the man take a step back to keep his balance.

"Greedy-"

Malik's flying fist was caught, Altaїr finally defending himself. He knew that if he did not, Malik would not stop. Malik struggled against the hand covering his fist. In a final surge, he turned his partner and slammed his back against the wall, pinning him there.

"_Bastard_." He finished, snarling face close to the other. Altaїr took this in stride, not moving to push him away. His expression remained neutral, though Malik could see him struggling to not wince, the skin around his cheek reddening already. Malik could feel tears of rage welling in his eyes, but he blinked them away furiously. Balling his fists in the other's robes at his shoulders, he growled dangerously. "I told you that infiltrating the fortress alone was a poor judgment. _If you had waited I could have-"_

Altaїr still made no move to extract himself from the harsh grip. His response was gentle but firm. "Malik, if I had waited Al Mualim would have been killed. What's done is done. I rescued our Mentor and I was rewarded because of it."

Malik gave a harsh sigh, unable to meet those amber eyes, burning with sincerity. "Such arrogance."

"And you are resentful and jealous, as you always have been." The words hit Malik like a blow to the chest. With one last shove, he pushed away from the man. "Malik-" His name was said with such strain, such need.

Malik turned sharply, glaring daggers at those eyes that were so vulnerable and apologetic. It brought an equal amount of pain and satisfaction to see his partner in such a state of worry. His tongue reflected only harshness, his desire to salt the wound too much to overcome. "Perhaps I am, but that does not make up for your own faults."

All traces of weakness were wiped from Altaїr's next words, replaced by annoyance. The change was instantaneous and Malik reveled in it. "And perhaps I was wrong to infiltrate the fortress on my own, but it needed to be done to preserve the Brotherhood."

Malik scoffed. "Admitting you were wrong? This is a first."

Altaїr ignored this and brought a hand to his cheek, tenderly touching the already swollen skin. It was the first that he acknowledged the obviously painful injury inflicted so harshly by his partner. He glared challengingly at Malik. "Are you going to apologize for attacking me?"

Malik stepped closer once again, entering Altaїr's space in response to the challenge. He narrowed his gaze, cocking his head to the side. "You deserved that."

In one swift motion, Malik's ass was grasped by two strong, covering hands. Before Malik could step away, he was wrenched flush with Altaїr, who pulled him into a harsh grind. His protest was silenced by a biting kiss. In response to this, Malik growled and pressed the man back against the wall, adding his own crushing grinds to the fray. He was content to continue rubbing against the man, but Altaїr apparently desired more.

Altair bodily pushed Malik down to the cushions, tearing mindlessly at his clothes. Malik met this with no resistance, lost in the desirous groping hands attacking his robes.

His words were panting, strained with anticipation. "I am still angry with you."

Altaїr's response was hurried, but carried with it a certain lightness, a fondness. "Are you ever not?" He managed to pull the ties on the front of Malik's robes open, sucking lustily on the skin he unveiled.

* * *

Go to my profile and click the link for smut if you so desire!

* * *

Malik scraped his teeth along Altaїr's jaw and neck, retracing the harsh biting with kisses. In turn, Altaїr raked his fingers through Malik's short hair. Both were still catching their breath after the sweaty exertion. They were lost in a sloppy exchange of lip and tongue, broken by hot, heavy breaths.

They remained thus, encircled in the other's arms. They slowly fell into silence, their bliss plagued only by sour thoughts from their harsh exchange before their act of pleasure and release.

Malik was loathe to break the silence, but his thoughts screamed back into his mind flooding through his bliss. He let a hand run over the top of the man's Master belt, spreading his sticky seed as he did so. "You know that this means that we will no longer be partners. As a Master, you will be assigned to solo missions almost exclusively."

"It is more efficient for me to work alone." The steady, factual tone Altaїr used set Malik off again, the sense of betrayal and jealousy blooming once more.

He pressed himself up to look into those now cold and calculating amber eyes. "Are you saying that having me as a partner has slowed you down?" The man was unbelievable. The change that just overcame him made him unrecognizable.

As if to soothe him, Altaїr drew a hand over Malik's shoulder and down to his exposed chest, passing over the marks he made in their passion. "The missions I will receive are best suited to a single highly skilled Assassin."

Malik glared down upon him, anger rising steadily. "So I am to be left behind and simply warm your bed when you return?"

"Is that not what you do already when we are not on a mission together?"

The anger redoubled and suddenly Malik could not bear to touch the man beneath him. He shoved away from Altaїr, seething. "Is that all I am to you? Someone for you to use to your own satisfaction?"

Altaїr's voice was maddeningly soft, not meeting Malik's searing gaze. "That is all you can be to me. "

"I am your partner, Altaїr. Not some whore," he spat out the word, drawing himself quickly to his feet and ignoring the familiar sharp pain in his lower back. He grabbed his pants from where they had been tossed in the heat of the moment.

"That is not what I said." It was not an apology. It was not even meant to calm him. The tone was indignant, arrogance that Altaїr conveyed in those words. Malik continued on to shove his legs through his pants, covering himself once again.

"Is it not?" He replied sharply, next retrieving his boots. He hastily pulled them on, the silence palpable between them. As he turned to leave, he gave the Master Assassin one last glance. "I suppose we will see."

* * *

End Notes:

I love exploring Altair's descent into maddening arrogance. I like to think that he has Narcissistic Personality Disorder, but that might be the BA in Psychology talking. I don't think he is bad enough to have a disorder, but damn is he destructive with what he has. Next time on Silent Discourse, yet another time jump! Watch as Malik spirals into a pattern of destruction as Altair achieves greatness. Stay tuned for next week's exciting installment: Chapter 23: Crucial in Conduct! 


	23. Crucial in Conduct

Chapter 23: Crucial in Conduct

* * *

Two years past thus. Little changed, save for Altaїr's increasing arrogance that only Malik had foreseen and bared with more than all. He single handedly took on missions meant for a team of highly skilled Assassins and returned victorious each time. Others looked up to him as more than just a man with skill, but as someone to be revered.

His so-called Eagle Vision became common knowledge, Altaїr no longer bothering to hide his true skills. This only earned him more praise and awe. After his heroic actions that saved Masyaf and their Mentor from falling, every Assassin knew his name. As it was with these things, there were many different reactions to the man's rise in recognition. There were those who met him with the utmost respect and saw him as a capable member of the Brotherhood. There were those who spoke slander of him behind closed doors and in alleyways, driven by jealousy. There were those who followed his every step, striving to learn even the way he walked but never willing to approach him. Malik saw his own brother fall in with the latter group, further infuriating him.

And then there was Malik, who continually cursed himself for giving in to the allure of the Master Assassin, satisfying him on those few nights that he was in Masyaf before venturing out on another mission.

Upon every night of Altaїr's return, Malik swore it would be the last that he allowed himself to embrace the man like a forlorn lover who had done nothing but wait to warm his bed. Yet as the weeks and months passed, he found himself unable to resist. For so long he had fallen under the allure of Altaїr, allowed him to own him in ways that no other had and in turn Malik had taken the same from him. Now Malik found himself restless in his sleep when there was no one beside him to hold close. For the first time in his life, or ever since he could remember, he had trouble getting enough rest each night he was alone. This wore on his patience, drawing his brow in a permanent frown of irritation. It was only when he was in Altaїr's arms that he could sleep soundly.

Malik was by no means idle while his elated partner ventured out on missions of the utmost import and secrecy. He continued collecting information for his cartography with Naji, filling the need for maps and charts. Without a steady partner for his missions, Malik took Kadar with him when he was sent out. Now a man grown, having seen almost eighteen years, Malik had to finally accept that his brother was capable of protecting himself. Taking him on these missions was partially an effort to strengthen him, but it was mostly a tool to keep Kadar from copying Altaїr's unsubtle and dangerous techniques.

It was on this topic that Malik spoke of one night in a lull in Altaїr's duties in the brief moment of spring before the weather turned to summer. His hunger and irritation towards the man properly sated after a passionate embrace, Malik was able to speak to him in a civil manner. Naked flesh was entwined, both men fitting comfortably together in the familiar embrace.

It was Altaїr to bring up the topic, in an increasingly rare surge of interest of someone other than himself. "I heard that your brother is your new partner. Is he learning well?"

Trying his best to keep the bitterness at bay, Malik replied. "Kadar looks up to you more than he does me."

"That is not entirely true."

Malik sighed at this. Of course Altaїr spoke the truth. This was indeed a rare moment of sincerity from the man. "He does not retain the teachings that I give him. Sometimes I feel it is hopeless."

Altaїr drew his fingers through Malik's short black hair. "I think more highly of him than you do, it seems."

Malik scoffed at that, holding the barest amount of animosity. "Of course you would. He worships even the dirty water from your washing. Why would you not think highly of him? If you spent even a moment in his company you will know I speak truth." Malik turned on him, tone biting. "Oh right, your overinflated ego would not be able to stomach even _more_ praise than it already gets, and you can be sure that you would get plenty from him. But Kadar is not the only one. Have you noticed Rauf watching your every move?"

In defiance to Malik's sudden turn in tone, Altaїr pulled his partner in close and was met with no resistance. "I told him he could study me from afar."

Malik sighed, anger abating as the arms around him tightened. "When did you become so vain?"

Altaїr remained neutral, civil in the face of the man baiting him. "I am not vain. I have talents that Rauf wants to learn and teach as the new swordplay instructor for the Novices. Why not let Kadar study under me as well?"

That brought out a small incredulous chuckle from Malik. "Because I know better than have my own brother taking advice from you."

"Would Al Mualim have given me the title of Master if he did not think I was an able Assassin?" There it was: that need to defend himself against anyone speaking of him with a less than praising manner. They met one another's gaze, both challenging the other.

"Our Mentor gave you the title because of your idiotic bravery and your natural skill."

Altaїr's mouth broke into a crooked smirk. "So you admit that I am skilled."

Malik pursed his lips. "Anyone with eyes can see that. Only I know that it is accompanied by an overwhelming arrogance."

"Is it wrong to know my own strengths?" The seductive tone stirred something in Malik somewhere in the vicinity of his loins.

Malik sighed sharply. "Just don't let your ego blind you to your weaknesses."

* * *

"Did you hear that Altaїr stopped the Templars from poisoning the wells in Acre?" The reverence in Kadar's voice made Malik cringe. Of course he had heard of the Master Assassin's latest heroic act. The whole city of Masyaf was buzzing with news of the siege of Acre, headed by the Templars under the guise of Saracens. It was little wonder that the news had reached him.

"Why should I care that it was he who did it? As long as we are fighting the Templars, it does not matter which of us carries out the deed." Malik tried and failed to sound disinterested, but his words came out sharp and raw. He picked up a piece from the game board between them and took his move.

Kadar looked at him with a challenging stare and Malik could see his own stubbornness reflected in those eyes that were the perfect image of his own. "You are still sour over Altaїr becoming a Master?" Kadar moved one of his own game pieces, removing one of Malik's as he jumped over it. Malik scratched the hair on his chin and took in the whole game. They were of an equal score, but his own defense was much stronger than his brother's. If Kadar kept his players so open, Malik could end the game in three more moves.

"I am not sour," Malik denied, staring intently at the board. "I simply think he gets far too much praise for doing tasks that any one of us could do."

"He dodged through the battle, took on a soldier's disguise and killed his target in his own barracks!" Kadar seemed to glow as he spoke, as if he were talking of a god. "Rumors say that he escaped by launching himself out with a catapult!"

Malik snorted at that. "You should not believe all the stories you are told." He had not seen Altaїr since his return from Acre the previous day. He had been too surrounded by admirers for him to dare get close or to even sneak into his house. As it was with these things, Malik knew that Altaїr needed time to calm his ego before he was tolerable to be around.

Luck would not be in his favor in this matter. Before Malik could make his next move, there was a hurried knock on the door of the brothers' home. He sighed and stood, answering the beckoning.

"Assassin Al-Sayf," a Novice messenger that Malik vaguely recognized addressed him with a respectful bow. He nodded for the young man to continue. "Our Mentor has asked to see you. He said it is urgent and of the utmost importance."

"What is it?" Kadar asked from where he sat at the game board, tone bright with the excitement of potentially having another mission to attend with his brother.

The Novice shook his head. "Al Mualim could not tell me."

Malik gave a short nod and turned to his brother. "Stay here, Kadar."

Not needing to see the disappointed frown at being left behind, Malik turned away and followed the Novice up the hill to their Mentor's study. As the grand fortress came into view, a hand at Malik's shoulder made him turn. His mouth scowled while his heart leapt into his throat. He cursed his reaction upon seeing his partner after little more than a week apart.

"Has Al Mualim summoned you as well?" Malik chided, not without a hint of distain.

The hooded man smirked in return, nodding. "It must be important. The messenger told me that it is a private matter."

"Private?" Malik milled over the word, unsure as to what exactly it meant. "Like the missions that you cannot tell me the details of that you have been going on for months?" It had been yet another point of annoyance for Malik to be unable to hear exactly what Altaїr had gone to do in his missions. It was almost as if their Mentor had plans far beyond the Brotherhood, plans that could only be carried out with the utmost secrecy. Why he was being summoned as well was a mystery.

Al Mualim was standing at the broad, tall window in his study, the ironwork supporting the glass twisting upwards to the vaulted ceiling. His brow was drawn as he looked down upon the town below.

Both Assassin and Master bowed as they came to stand before the desk, knowing that their presence had been noticed.

"Altaїr, Malik." Al Mualim addressed the two men, slowly turning towards them. There was a certain shadow in the back of his good eye, masked by a glint of excitement. The look sent a chill down Malik's spine but when he glanced to his partner, he appeared not phased. Perhaps this was always how he acted when speaking of his 'private' missions and Altaїr was simply used to it.

"What I tell you must never be repeated, not to _anyone_," he forced that last word, punctuating his meaning. "I have brought both of you here because you have worked well together in the past and this mission requires more than one excellent Assassin to complete." Al Mualim appeared to gather his thoughts before continuing. "There is an item of more worth than that of all the riches and knowledge we could accumulate in a thousand lifetimes. The Templars have discovered it and it cannot fall into their hands. It is vital to have in our possession and I will accept no failure to retrieve it."

Malik took in this new information, each word bringing about ten questions in his mind. "Mentor, what could possibly be worth so much and why does the Brotherhood need an item of such bounty?"

"That I cannot say, for even I do not know its true strength. Let us call it the Arc." Al Mualim turned to Malik. "I understand that you have taken your brother as your mission partner. He may join you on this mission but as he is not of such a high rank, he cannot know the details of what you are retrieving. You and Altaїr are to be the only ones to know the truth of this mission. I cannot say enough of the importance of secrecy in this." Malik nodded, forcing back a grimace. Kadar would be overjoyed to finally be put on a mission with his idol. Malik had been forced to come to terms with his brother's ascent into adulthood, forced to allow him to walk his own path. He had tried to steer him away from the teachings of Altaїr, but that only made Kadar pull further away from his teachings of caution.

Appearing to not need more information on the questionable item they were to retrieve, Altaїr jumped right to the vital information. "Where are we to find it?"

"Jerusalem, in Solomon's Temple."

* * *

End Part 1

* * *

End Notes: Oh shiz, you know where this is going, don't you? Yup.

Stay tuned for next week's exciting (and rather bloody) installment: Part 2, beginning with Chapter 24: Brother in Blood


	24. Brother in Blood

Note: All dialogue in this chapter is directly from the game. Not my dialogue.

* * *

Part 2

* * *

Chapter 24: Brother in Blood

* * *

"Wait! There must be another way. This one need not die."

The Master Assassin was upon his prey before the words stopped him. Indeed, there was no way of stopping the man.

"An excellent kill. Fortune favors your blade." Malik shot an angry glance at his brother as he complimented the exact action he himself had tried to prevent.

Admiration. It sickened Malik. The whole five day journey to Jerusalem had been filled with his brother praising the Master, watching his every move. This was the first that Kadar had seen Altaїr's work with a blade, and the arrogant man was never late to flaunt his own pride.

"Not fortune, skill. Watch a while longer and you might learn something."

Malik next shot Altaїr a scathing glance, speaking to his brother as he did so. "Indeed, he'll teach you to disregard everything the Masters taught us."

"And how would you have done it?" A challenge. Any attack on Altaїr's pride was immediately met with defiance. This was not the man Malik had first given himself to. Ever since he achieved the title of Master, his arrogance became a dark cloud about him. It was only now that Malik could see the full extent of its potency. This was the first time in two years that he had gone on a mission with his intimate partner and the changes he saw were startling and infuriating.

"I would not have drawn attention to us. I would not have taken the life of an innocent. What I would have done is follow the Creed."

"Nothing is true, everything is permitted. Understand these words. It matters not how we complete our task; only that it is done." Altaїr was stoic in this. Malik raged silently. If Kadar were not here, Altaїr would have lashed out. In the presence of someone who looked up to him however, he put on the facade of poise, of a teacher.

"But this is not the way-"

"My way's better."

Malik tossed out his arms in frustration. He was done. Another moment in his esteemed partner's presence and he would have come to blows. "I will scout ahead. Try not to dishonor us further."

He ran ahead, trying to clear his mind of the anger festering there. He must focus on the mission. Letting his hot head take over his actions would compromise what they came to do. He had to complete the mission, he had to look after his brother, and he had to keep Altaїr in check.

Malik stopped, spotting a man in Templar robes standing ahead. His two companions quickly caught up to his side when he paused to assess the situation. Plainly disregarding Malik's warning not a few minutes before, Altaїr ran past and put a blade into the man, silently lowering him to the ground. Malik opened his mouth to reprimand the action, but Altaїr simply continued on, the narrow passageway opening up into a vast cavern. Malik looked at the walls and upon closer inspection saw them to be man-made. It indeed was a temple, built hundreds of years ago for the great ruler Solomon and since abandoned and buried by time.

It was this place that the Templars had excavated; it was this place where the item so greatly desired by Al Mualim resided. The Arc, he had called it. It looked little like the Arcs illustrated in the tomes of history and lore.

A grand gilded box sat upon a high ledge, an ornate decoration that looked like some deathly desert flower sitting atop. The grandness of it was nothing short of breathtaking, even from this distance. "There!" He pointed to the box as his two companions came to stand beside him. "That must be the Ark."

Kadar also appeared to be struck in awe. "The Ark of the Covenant?" His speech was halting, filled with intrigue and awe.

"Don't be silly, there is no such thing," Altaїr sharply cut in, tone condescending. "It's just a story."

His awe still not broken by the harsh words, Kadar continued to stare at it with wide eyes. "Then what is it?"

Distant footsteps echoed about the grand, damp walls, the once ornately carved pillars. Malik hissed to his companions, "Quiet! Someone's coming." Malik pulled his brother back and away from the edge, out of sight.

Five men entered the treasure chamber through an arched entryway below. Four were robed as Templar Knights, the fifth in grander attire. He stood a good head over the other men, his booming voice echoing as he gave commands. Malik's heart dropped into his stomach. Anyone who had heard stories of the Templar Knights would recognize that man anywhere.

The three Assassins crouched unseen upon their balcony. Malik could see Altaїr's muscles tense beside him and was awash with a great foreboding.

"Robert de Sable," Altaїr said lowly, bloodlust hanging heavy on his tongue. "His life is mine."

"No!" Malik whispered harshly, grabbing a handful of his partner's sleeve in an effort to stop him. "You were asked to retrieve the treasure and deal with Robert only if necessary."

Amber eyes only for his target, Altaїr responded with immovable resolve. "He stands between us and it. I'd say it's necessary."

"Discretion, Altair!" Malik hissed in a vain attempt to get through the man's dangerous determination.

Altaїr tore his arm out of Malik's desperate grasp. "You mean cowardice! That man is our greatest enemy and here we have a chance to be rid of him."

He knew he was fighting a pointless battle. Altaїr's arrogance always won, no matter how logical the counterargument was. "You have already broken two tenets of our Creed. Now you would break the third. Do not compromise the Brotherhood."

Altaїr's next words shook Malik with their scorn. "I am you superior, in both title and ability. You should know better than to question me." They cut deep. It was as though Altaїr was finally telling Malik what he truly thought of him. They had never been equals in his eyes and Malik had never been anything but someone to hold him back. Something in Malik broke in that moment but he was not given the time to reel from it.

Malik looked on in horror as Altaїr descended from their high perch. There was no stopping him. His heart dropped into his stomach as he realized that the arrogant Master Assassin did not stop his approach towards the Templar Grand Master. Before he knew it, Malik too had descended the ladder and had followed Altaїr. They were brothers in arms, if nothing else, so he dutifully followed. Focus intent on Altaїr, Malik barely noticed his brother following close behind him.

As Malik approached, steps cautious but giving away no hint of weakness, Altaїr was addressing the Templars and De Sable was responding.

"Hold, Templars." His voice carried with it all of the cockiness he could muster. He was so blindly confident. "You are not the only ones with business here."

"Ah!" The giant of a man turned, voice rasping, his French accent echoing on the damp walls surrounding. "Well, this explains my missing man. And what is it you want?"

"Blood."

All at once Malik's senses were dulled and yet hypersensitive. He saw Altaїr's intent a moment too late, was just barely too slow in his mad lunge to stop the man's advance. He felt the cloth of Altaїr's sleeve brush his fingertips, heard the distinct rasp of metal as a hidden blade was unsheathed.

"No wait, don't!" It was a desperate cry, but all in vain.

Malik froze as he looked on, horrorstruck to witness Altaїr so easily thwarted, caught and overpowered by the Templar Grand Master. He struggled against the beast of a man, his arm shaking with the effort of trying to make his blade meet flesh.

The French man hissed, easily dominating Altaїr in both strength and resolve. "You know not the things in which you meddle, Assassin." Malik looked helplessly on as Altaїr's knees threatened to give way beneath him. De Sable continued as Malik stepped back, spreading a protective arm out before Kadar and forcing him to step back with him. The best course of action would be for both Malik and Kadar to escape while the Templars were distracted. If de Sable wanted to kill Altaїr, he would have done so already. His next words confirmed this.

"I spare you only that you may return to your Master and deliver a message." De Sable was turning Altaїr now, a hand grasping the cloth at his neck. The Master Assassin's struggles did little to sway him. "The Holy Land is lost to him and his. He should flee now while he has the chance. Stay and all of you will die."

With a great heave of strength, the Templar Grand Master tossed Altaїr like he was but a bag of grain, sending him flying backwards. Altaїr's back cracked on a crumbling wall, which gave way under the force of impact. Malik struggled to see what had become of him, but before the dust could settle, de Sable turned back to his men and barked an order that cut through Malik's thundering chest.

"Men, to arms! Kill the Assassins!"

The temple exploded into chaos. Suddenly there were men upon him, blades drawn and flying. They released savage yells as they attacked, the strength of their blows jarring Malik's sword arm as he caught their blades with his own. Two were upon him, raining down their steel with unrelenting speed and strength. The other two ran past him and a pang of fear struck through Malik until he forced himself to calm. Kadar was strong, he was skilled. He could hold his own against two-

Malik did not know what made him turn. It could have been the dull wet thud of metal entering flesh. It could have been the choking cough that came afterwards, or even the second wet scrape of metal on bone.

All he saw were wide eyes, the perfect reflection of his own, shock and fear gazing into the dark ceiling high above. An open mouth, blood bubbling at his lips as he gave one last shuddering breath.

The cry that rang across that ancient temple was not one of a human. It was of a beast, enraged, vengeful. The head of a Templar foe was felled like a sapling tree even before his brother's knees struck the ground.

Malik twisted towards the second Templar just as the foe's reddened sword was removed from the gut of the young Assassin- the Assassin whose eyes were still wide and moist, glossy and yet dull. Kadar's shoulder hit the ground, limbs not moving to catch his fall. His skull cracked against the stone, but those glossy eyes did not even flinch at the impact.

Malik stared on, his world slow, ground spinning beneath his feet. White hot pain seared through his left arm and he barely felt it. The blade twisted and tore at his flesh. The cry he released next did not sound like it came from him. It was a far off man who was experiencing that pain. There was no sword tearing through muscle and sinew. There was only his brother, lying still on the ground, still not moving, not moving, not-

Twisting violently around, Malik caught his blade under one of the soldier's flanks. Red stained those pristine white robes and the man fell. There were two left but neither withstood the blind wrath of the Assassin for long. His blade met another, glittering crimson and dripping, spattering as Malik dashed it to the side. The blade that had pierced though his brother- still soaked in his lifeblood. His vision turned black and when he drew his awareness back to himself, both Templars had fallen to his blade as Malik spun in his wild dance of blind vengeance.

In the silence following their deaths, Malik looked to find Robert de Sable long gone.

There was a tugging at Malik's arm and his heart leapt as he turned, expecting to find Kadar's triumphant grin, his hand pulling at his sleeve to grab his attention. A phantom of a smile passed Malik's cheeks. He tried to raise his arm to clap Kadar on the shoulder, but it would not move. He glanced backwards and his heart plummeted to the floor, his world spinning.

All he found behind him was empty, dark and dank air. A glance down revealed a dripping blade still lodged through his left arm, the weight of it pulling at the torn skin and muscle beneath. Malik stared down at the sword, almost surprised to see a blade in such an interesting place. He tried to lift his arm once more, but again found it would not move. In a daze, ears rigging in the silence, he grasped the hilt of the blade and drew it from his flesh. It came so easily, like from a scabbard so recently polished with-

Vertigo overcame him, then darkness.

Malik woke with a screaming ache in his head, the cold stone floor pressing against his cheek. He tried to stand but only one arm came to his aid. He rolled, stood, wavered, and stepped forward. There were five bodies before him, but somewhere in his foggy mind that number did not match up.

_Kadar_.

His memory flooded back, sharp, clear, and with staggering pain.

They had been attacked by four Templars.

There were five bodies.

Malik caught himself from collapsing to the ground once again, walked two paces, and found that he could no longer support himself. He came crashing to his knees, only to come face to face with eyes that were the perfect reflection of his own staring up at him. They were no longer glossy but foggy, gazing up into oblivion beyond. Before he knew what he was doing, Malik was on his feet once more, staggering back and away from that lifeless gaze that he had looked upon not fifteen minutes ago, but then had held so much life.

It was not him. _Could_ not be him. Kadar had escaped. This corpse only appeared to look exactly like his brother, who he had raised as a father would a son. He had escaped with Altaїr, if indeed the Master Assassin had survived falling though that wall. He _must_ have.

The world spun and Malik turned away. He staggered, toes catching on the rough stonework as he dragged his feet.

The _mission_.

Purpose suddenly filled Malik's empty breast. It was all he could do to focus on that one thought, all others blocked from his mind. Nothing else mattered, nothing else was important. He was an Assassin.

He was an _Assassin_.

Malik knew not how he managed to make his way to the grand gilded box. He laid wide eyes upon it and found that it was indeed not a box at all. It was an ornate pedestal for whatever fixture was atop it: the golden pod, surrounded by deadly looking spikes like something off of a desert flower. That was the Arc. That was what Al Mualim had sent the three Assassins here for, and that was exactly what he would receive.

The cost did not matter to Al Mualim. The death of one Brother did not matter. All that mattered was this trinket, this gaudy treasure. It was worth more than Malik could know, more than he knew he could ever understand.

* * *

End Notes: Stage of grief #1: Denial.

Stay tuned for next week's exciting (soul-crushing) installment of Silent Discourse! Chapter 25: Returning in Ruin


	25. Returning in Ruin

Note: Most dialogue in this chapter is also from the game. Not mine, etc.

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Chapter 25: Returning in Ruin

* * *

Malik urged his mare into a faster gallop, the motions jarring his uselessly dangling arm at his side, the satchel containing the most precious Arc swinging on his back.

The distant roar of an army amassing behind him drove him on. Upon returning to the treasure chamber, Robert de Sable must have come upon quite a shock when he found his most precious treasure missing.

Malik pressed on, his mind focused only on the road before him. If he looked back, if he thought upon what he had left behind, he would find himself unable to continue on. Nothing mattered now. Nothing else mattered. It was only him, injured, weak from blood loss, but carrying the most valuable trinket strung across his back. He could not afford to think of his fallen brother, could not bear to think upon his partner and where he might be if he had even survived crashing through that wall.

He was alone. He needed no one but himself.

Night fell not soon enough. He pulled his horse well off of the road, well out of the way from wandering eyes. He fell from his horse and lay where he landed, too weak from the loss of blood and from the hard ride to think of setting up camp. His arm screamed in pain, the torn flesh still not bound. A wave of darkness passed across his vision, but he forced himself to stay awake. If he were to survive the night, he knew he had to stop the bleeding. He stood on shaking legs and dug through the saddle bags until he found strips of cloth to bind his wound.

When he revealed the wound to bandage it, his vertigo redoubled. A mess of torn flesh and muscle was all he could see in the waning light of the setting sun. Blood had begun pooling beneath his skin in his hand, bloating his fingers and turning his olive skin a dark red. He tried to move his fingers but the strain pulled at the wound and left him gasping with redoubled pain. With a great effort, he wrapped the strips of cloth as best he could about his wound, pulling them as tight as he could without making himself pass out from the pain. Even so, he tasted blood in his mouth from biting his tongue against the agony.

With his arm bandaged as well as he could, it was all Malik could do to retrieve his bed roll and lay his head upon it. He closed his eyes, his sword drawn and clasped in his good hand. Sleep came far too fast, his exhausted body not allowing him to think upon all that had transpired, all that he had lost in that single day.

Malik woke before the sun, his whole arm throbbing but his fingers oddly numb. He stood on less shaky legs and packed his things into the saddle bags once more, securing the most important satchel over his shoulder. It felt heavier than it had the day before, pulling at his shoulder. He woke his horse and mounted her, drawing her back to the road.

The jolts of riding were an agony on his arm but if he stopped then all would be lost. If he stopped then the army would find him and take the treasure. If he stopped then the loss of his brother would have been for nothing. If he stopped then Altaїr would never know how deep his betrayal ran.

Malik silently raged at the man. It was entirely his fault. If he had only listened to Malik, if only he had followed the Creed as he ought, none of this would have happened. If the arrogant man had only waited, had practiced discretion, then he would be riding back to Masyaf victorious with both his partner and brother at his side.

A fire burned in his breast, stronger and hotter than the searing agony pulling at his arm. He would make Altaїr know of his faults. He would force him to curl at his feet, to feel even a fraction of Malik's pain. He would crumple with it, would crumple from the humiliation of failing their Mentor.

He thought little upon his brother but when he tried, he found that he could not. Every time his thoughts came to him, they immediately switched to a burning anger, towards the Templars, towards the Brotherhood, towards Al Mualim, but mostly towards the arrogant Master Assassin himself.

He dwelt upon this anger, let it simmer and grow into a full boil of fury. The fault was upon Altaїr. The betrayal was upon Altaїr. The death of the last of his family was upon Altaїr. Their relationship meant nothing. It had been only the sick desire to satisfy both of their bodily cravings. He did not matter. Altaїr meant nothing.

The remainder of the five day journey was spent thus, each day riding in exhausted agony with his fury fueling him on. Every day his arm grew more and more numb, the blood pooling under his skin turning purple then black. Malik dared not dwell on the state of his arm. All that mattered was delivering the Arc to Al Mualim. Everything else was unimportant. His life was unimportant, as was the loss of his brother. He hoped that Altaїr was alive, even if for him to see what disaster his idiotic actions had caused. He needed to see pain and regret in those amber eyes.

If he could make the man feel the pain that he himself was feeling, Malik believed he would be free from it. It was faulty logic, but in his pain-stricken mind all he could think of was a release from the torment. He pressed on, the dizziness in his head now not from blood loss but from fever. His arm had swollen over the five days of travel, the torn flesh hot and red with infection. He was astonished that he could keep himself upright in his saddle even as he urged his horse up the hill towards the gates of Masyaf.

He must have fallen from his horse at the stables, for when he became aware of his surroundings he was getting lifted to his feet by a fellow Brother in the robes of a low rank. The man was asking rapid questions of him, telling him that they were going directly to the infirmary.

A flood of purpose overcame Malik and he forced the man to stop.

"The satchel," he rasped, "the army." The Assassin looked at him as if he spoke in the raving tongues of a lunatic. He looked to where he had just stood from and there was the most precious treasure, worth more than his own life and his brother's. It lay in its satchel beside a pile of horse manure. He turned towards the Assassin supporting him and barked, "Get that satchel, take me to Al Mualim."

Without another word of protest, the Assassin did just that. Malik barely remembered the journey up the hill towards the fortress. Before he knew it, he was stepping into the library and the Assassin was assisting him up the stairs. Malik held his arm at his side to keep it from swinging wildly as he staggered. His face was set in determination. He had completed the journey and he dared not dwell upon at what cost he had completed it.

"Do not speak, not another word!" The Mentor's furious voice echoed through the library. Malik focused on stepping up the stairs, but was struck when another voice reached his ears. Alive, desperate, arrogant, but so _alive_. It was the man he most dreaded to see, but so wanted to see his pain for his so dire a betrayal. A betrayal not only towards the Brotherhood, but a betrayal of Malik's own trust, his own desperate affection. None was still there now. He wanted to see the man suffer, wanted to see the life run from his eyes just as he had seen it leave his brother's.

"I swear to you I will find it, I'll-"

"No!" Al Mualim raged. "You will do nothing. You have done enough." There was a pause, just as Malik stumbled up the stairs and the two came into view. "Where are Malik and Kadar?"

"Dead."

"No, not dead," Malik rasped, announcing his presence as he limped towards the two. He dared not look at Altaїr, dared not see the look of shock, or see the desperate but halting step towards him that he knew meant that the Master Assassin wanted nothing more than to run and embrace him. It was fortunate that he did not, because Malik would not have resisted sticking his blade in the man's chest.

Al Mualim also looked to be shocked at his arrival. "Malik-"

"I still live at least!" Malik let the rage that he had been stewing over during the past five days of agonizing travel flow into his words. His voice shook and rasped with strength that he thought he had lost days before.

"And your brother?"

"Gone." Malik's voice cracked and he turned on Altaїr, saw him flinch at his sharp words. "Because of you!"

"Robert threw me from the room! There was no way back. Nothing I could do." Those words almost sounded like a mantra, as if Altaїr had been repeating them to himself over the past few days. He had been trying to convince himself of their truth, but Malik only heard excuses.

Nothing could satisfy Malik's need to watch the pain growing in those amber eyes. "Because you would not heed my warning! All of this could have been avoided. And my brother…" Here Malik paused. His next words finally made true what he had been trying to deny. "My brother would still be alive! Your arrogance nearly cost us victory today."

"Nearly?" There was a hint of hope in Al Mualim's voice.

Malik turned to the Mentor. "I brought what your favorite failed to find. Here, take it."He motioned towards the scholar who had taken the satchel from the Assassin who had aided him from the stables. The white robed scholar stepped up, the gaudy treasure in his hands. As it came into the grasp of Al Mualim, Malik felt something break within him. The satisfaction of completing the mission, of besting his rival turned lover, it all fell flat. All at once he felt defeated. Exhaustion that he had failed to notice building up suddenly slammed onto his shoulders and he slumped under the weight of it. But there was still more to do, more to tell. "Though it seems I've returned with more than just the treasure."

A messenger ran up then, telling of Robert de Sable's army at their gates. Malik's attention wavered as Al Mualim barked out orders. He must have swayed on his feet because the next he knew, there were steadying hands at his shoulders. He turned to see a familiar face of a scholar looking worriedly at him. It was the same man who had found him researching the rules of the Creed upon the subject of sodomy.

Malik had not the strength to acknowledge the man or his act of kindness. He still raged within, but was too spent to act upon it.

Al Mualim turned on him after issuing his orders, Altaїr already gone from sight. That dark eye pulled his waning gaze, a comforting hand placed on his good arm. "You have done a great service to all of us, Malik. I will see that you are rewarded for your brave efforts. We will all mourn for your brother, but for now you must seek treatment." The way it was said would have brought tears to Malik's eyes had he not felt so numb.

"Altaїr-" Malik began, his voice rasping, energy spent. He got the attention of the Mentor, held his gaze. "Altaїr should not live for his betrayal. He broke every one of our tenants without remorse. He killed an innocent old man in the temple, gave away his position before he struck at Robert de Sable, and compromised our Brotherhood by leading them here. I tried to stop him, but his arrogance drove him on. His actions make him little better than a traitor. He should give his life in exchange for my brother's." Malik's voice broke upon the last word and he fell silent.

Al Mualim nodded solemnly at his words. "I was afraid this day would come. Thank you for this information, Malik. Now go rest. You have fulfilled your duties for today."

Before he knew it, he was being led down the steps from whence he came.

Soft reassuring words were spoken into his ear from the scholar supporting him, but they fell upon deaf ears. Malik could feel his fever thickening in his head. Now that his purpose had been fulfilled, he lacked the strength to go on. It was all he could do to move one foot in front of the other.

He was ushered into the infirmary, the chaos of battle preparations going unnoticed around him. He was placed upon a surgery bench lined with white linen. A healer hovered over him, his questions washing over Malik, unheard and unanswered. He felt a tugging at his left shoulder and looked down to find his sleeve being cut away, the bloody bandages being peeled from his torn flesh. He tried to move his arm but his commands were not honored. He could no longer feel his fingers, though his wound seared as the bandages were stripped off.

The healer stooped over his ruined arm, brow drawn. He barked orders at his assistants, who rushed out of Malik's blurred sight. He must have lost consciousness for a moment, for when he came to again there was a cup at his lips, steaming liquid pouring into his mouth. He choked on the bitter concoction but forced himself to drink it.

His feverish mind wavered, the healers around him blurring in and out of his vision. Their words were muffled, unintelligible. They were speaking amongst themselves, to him, but he could not distinguish one word from the next.

There was a flash of metal at the corner of his eye and all at once he focused on that toothed blade. Every fiber of his being screamed at him as the blade drew nearer. He must have screamed, must have jolted from his bed.

_No_.

It was not simply his arm; it was his entire way of life. It was everything he had worked to achieve. It was the strength that he had honed, skills that he had perfected. It was who he was, he was an _Assassin_. An Assassin uses his body as a tool and without it he is nothing.

_Nothing_.

Arms pinned him down as he convulsed, trying to free himself, trying to flee. He used the last of his waning strength, but it was not enough to break loose from the binds that they strapped on his legs and across his chest. He tried to scream, but a tight bundle of cloth was shoved between his teeth. A strand of cloth was synched around his upper arm, just above the gore that had once been a strong limb.

The metal on his red, infected flesh burned like ice. He fought against the mind-numbing medicine that was flooding through him, horror his only thought. The blade pulled at his skin, scraped at his already ruined muscles. He tried to scream, but all he could do was bite down harder on the cloth in his mouth. Though the blade moved swiftly, the healer cutting as quickly as he could, the anguish made him feel as though he would never get a release from the torment.

When the serrations on the blade met bone, Malik felt a chill like the throes of death wrack down his spine and the world spun and turned dark.

When light entered his vision once again, Malik fell upon it, embraced it. He had felt so close to the gates of death that any light was welcome in his eyes. When his vision cleared, however, he came to a different conclusion.

He was still surrounded by healers, all looking intently at his left side. One reached over and took hold of something at his side. Malik struggled to lift his heavy head and found he could not. When the object was lifted into his view, a new wave of horror passed by him as its familiarity struck him.

An arm.

_His_ arm.

Malik fought down a wave of nausea as he saw his own blackened and bloody arm carried away and out of sight. It was a surreal vision and one that left him dizzy. He tried to wipe his brow but found his remaining arm still bound to the table. Upon instinct, he raised his left arm to perform the same action. It was all he could do to stay conscious after the wave of agony that came with moving, the arm weightless and…

Gone.

For the first time, Malik's gaze fell upon what had become of his limb. Still tightly bound to stop him from bleeding out and yet to be sutured shut, his stump was a gory mess. Vertigo overcame him and this time he welcomed the wave of darkness.

* * *

End Notes: Whoop for life-crippling amputations! Now Malik has yet another thing to mourn and be angry about.

Stay tuned for next week's exciting installment: Chapter 26: Dai in Disparagement!


	26. Dai in Disparagement

Chapter 26: Dai in Disparagement

* * *

He was not sure if he was awake or asleep. He was not sure if the horrors residing just below his level of consciousness were just night terrors or if they had truly transpired. He was not even sure he still had a body. He felt as though he were floating but simultaneously altogether too heavy. He lifted his eyelids, took in his surroundings. Malik found himself in the same surgery room he had been taken before, stone walls on all sides with one open doorway. The floor was wet beside the bench he lay on, as if it had just been wiped clean. Malik did not need to think hard to figure out exactly what had been cleaned. This was the surgery – the floor had seen enough blood to be black with it soaking into the stone. He was propped up on pillows, heavy blankets draped over his body. It was only then that he felt a trickle of sweat run down his temple.

His fever must have broken while he slept. He knew not how long he had been unconscious on this table. Horror and dread filled his foggy mind, the aftertaste of bitter herbal medicine explaining his unbearable numbness and listlessness. He dreaded to look, dreaded what he knew he would find beneath the heavy blankets. He could barely feel one arm, the other…

He tossed the blankets back, the motion jarring and sending him awash with a dulled but still potent stab of pain. It tore through his chest, pulled at his shoulder. Malik dared not look down to look at what had become of his left arm. He knew, had known. Somehow he had known ever since he saw the blade protruding from his flesh that he would never again have its use. Even so nothing could have prepared him for the dizzying shock when he automatically glanced down. Vertigo, nausea- for a moment Malik forgot how to breathe.

Malik set his head in his hand, trying to still the spin. He all at once cursed and welcomed the herbs that numbed his thoughts. He dared not think, dared not reminisce upon all that he had lost. It was all too raw, like the stitches he knew held his skin together beneath the bandages.

He did not sense the approach of the man until it was far too late to prepare himself.

The smallest scuff of a boot on stone floor tugged at Malik's ears, the noise obviously intentional, serving as an announcement.

It took a moment for Malik's eyesight to adjust, to look upon that hooded man who had taken so much from him. His chest lurched painfully upon setting his gaze upon him before cooling into an exhausted rage.

"Get out."

Malik's voice was hoarse, as if he had been screaming. Perhaps he had. What it lacked in volume was made up tenfold in fury.

Altaїr remained in the doorway to the surgery room, unmoving, expression oddly blank. "I thought you dead, Malik." It was said softly, sounding less of an excuse but nowhere near an apology.

It did nothing to sway Malik's resolve.

"_Get out_," Malik repeated, his voice cracking with the strain. He tried to sit up but immediately his head spun dangerously and he felt himself falling back. Automatically, he reached back but found he had no arm to catch him. The frantic motion tugged at the bandages holding what was left of his arm to his side. Blinding pain racked up to his shoulder and he fell back, biting his tongue to keep from crying out. He gripped his shoulder, covered with a thick layer of bandages. It took all of his resolve to keep from crumpling over in the presence of his traitorous lover.

Teeth clenched, Malik turned fiery eyes upon Altaїr, who had taken a halting step forward as if to come to his aid. "I said _leave_." Malik practically spat, hating how his voice cracked and wavered underneath his furious growl. "Get _out_." He blindly grabbed next to him, fist clenching around whatever he could find. As it flew across the room, he saw that it was a mug of water. He did not care if he hit the man. He did not even look to see if it had. He heard it shatter on the stone floor.

"Leave me _as you always have_!" Malik felt his voice break just as the mug had and he buried his face in his hand, the tears at the corners of his eyes hot and angry.

The next he looked up after fighting the tears stinging his eyes, it was to find the familiar face of the healer. He had taken the place of Altaїr and was glancing down from passing by the door, exasperated at the broken mug on the floor. Malik leaned back, wincing at the motion. He found hands at his back and uninjured shoulder and glanced up to find the healer aiding him into a more comfortable position. Stubbornly, Malik tried to push the man away but the herbal medicine still coursing through his body made him too weak to do so.

The healer scoffed at his attempt to shove him off, tone soft but still commanding. "You do not need my help? Good, I have my hands full enough with the Templar invasion just finished. I have one with a broken leg and many more with injuries besides. If you think you can do this all on your own, be my guest." Irritation pulled at his already tight expression. "I have little time for insolence."

Malik's chest lurched. This man had just saved his life and in return Malik acted like an ungrateful child. "I am sorry, Mo'alej. I- I just need rest." He was exhausted, his hoarse voice soft.

The healer sighed. "It is what you need now, Al-Sayf, the elder brother." Those words cut deep, bringing with them a flood of painful memories that Malik wished so dearly to forget. They brought to mind an image of the pale, bloodstained face of the one he held most dear to him. All at once he wanted to forget but simultaneously he wanted to remember every bit, every detail of blood clinging to his brother's newly grown scruff at his chin, still downy with youth. He had refused to shave it off of his chin, being so proud of his mark of manhood.

Malik had no more tears to spare, but his eyes stung with the sore lack. "No, no longer. I am the only one now." All at once he felt strangely empty. When he glanced up to look at the healer, he saw greatly pained eyes looking down upon him.

"You should consider yourself lucky you did not join him. Your arm was deeply infected and you have lost a lot of blood. It will take a long time for you to fully recover. Do not try to push yourself beyond your capabilities as you usually do. I know you too well now expect anything else." Those words were said with a sad smile but Malik could see beyond the man's façade. With only one arm, there was nothing else for him to do, no way he could continue on as an Assassin.

"There is no use for me now." The soft words came unbidden to his lips, voicing his despair.

The healer shook his head and Malik's heart fell further. His words, however, carried with them a hint of hope. "Not in your current state, no. Wait a while and you still may find purpose." With that, he turned away and left Malik to his own silent contemplations.

* * *

The next Malik woke, the light of a new dawn streamed through the high narrow window of the stone surgery room. Thirst pulled at his throat and he looked to his side to find a table with a mug of water. As Malik reached for it, a realization dawned on him. It was a different mug than the one he had before. He sat back as if winded from the thought. The visit from his treacherous lover had not been a dream after all.

He drank deep of the water, glad to have the bitterness of the medicine washed away. He no longer had fuzzy incoherent thoughts and Malik was more than grateful for that. It was all he had left to him now, though he forced himself to keep his mind clear. He had to focus on healing and dealing with everything else that had transpired would keep him from doing so.

He did not even look to his left side, fearing what he would find. He could feel nothing but an ache just below his shoulder. Perhaps that had been the nightmare.

Malik closed his eyes against the thoughts that threatened to stream in, relaxing his breath and clearing his mind in meditation. He lost himself for a long while, going deeper into himself than he ought. He lost touch with all that transpired around him, blocked out all noise and patterns of light beyond his closed eyelids.

When he felt ready, he slowly drew himself up and out of his mind, but his heart sunk as he once again found himself surrounded by the gray stone walls of the surgery. He immediately sensed a presence and glanced to his right to find a most familiar bearded face staring intently at him.

Malik jolted to attention, the motion sending a wave of pain up his left shoulder. He cringed and addressed the seated man. "Mentor."

Al Mualim held up a hand, his demeanor emanating calm. "Stay still, Malik. The healers have told me what you have undergone. You have lost much, but due to your loyal actions the Brotherhood remains strong." All at once Malik felt his memories flood back in a blinding flash of clarity. Every shiver of pain that had gone up his arm, every dizzying moment of movement during his journey. Each detail of the dull fogginess of his brother's wide eyes as he lay upon the stone floor of Solomon's Temple. The words, the excuses put forth from the man he once held so close, who had taken from him all that made him who he was.

Silence rang between the two for a long moment, the thoughts that Malik had tried to keep at bay screaming through his mind. "That may be so but I am useless now."

There was a twinkle in the old man's good eye. "That is where you are wrong." Here he leaned forward in his seat and appeared to contemplate his words for a moment before continuing, the twinkle gone and replaced by a furrowed brow. "I have been following your progress and your successes in your duties for some time now and I must admit that I have been leading you down a path different than what you intended." Malik's head spun with this reveal that seemed to come out of the blue. Not swayed, Al Mualim continued. "Your sword arm is strong no doubt, but your mind has always been sharper. Had it been me to decide the path you took, I would have made you a scholar long ago." He paused, appearing to regret his next words. "It was never my intention to make you a Master, Malik."

Malik could feel yet another hope break somewhere deep in his chest. He had always thought that Al Mualim had thought better of him, had respected his strength. To have his Mentor come to him now, in his most vulnerable state and to tell him such a thing…

His answering tone was hollow, soft and broken. "Why did you not tell me this before? Why let me live a path with so unattainable a goal?"

Al Mualim had his answer ready and he was strong in his conviction to his words. "Every Brother must be free to choose his own way. This is what we strive for in all things, is it not?"

"I just chose the wrong path," Malik replied distantly, running his hand down his face in silent distress.

The response he got was even stronger, to make up for his weakness. "Not the wrong path, Malik. It is an honorable goal to become a Master. You wished to fill your father's shoes and I commend that. It just would have held you back from your full potential."

The despair would not abate. "There is no more potential. Not anymore. I am useless to the Brotherhood without my arm."

Al Mualim shook his head. "Again, that is where you are wrong, Malik." The Assassin looked on as his Mentor brought forth a bundle of black cloth, folded delicately and with care. "This is where I have been leading you all your life." He set the cloth on Malik's lap over the hospital sheet he had pulled up to his waist.

Malik took it up and the garment fell open before him. They were black robes, the sleeves and the hem embroidered with ornate white designs. He knew these markings well. Many men around the town as well as those who oversaw the Bureaus wore them. "A Rafiq?"

"A Dai."

Malik's head spun. This must be another one of his fevered delusions, _must_ be. That was the highest rank in the Brotherhood, second only to Mentor. It placed him above even the Master Assassin rank. His throat constricted and he dropped the robe from his hand in shock. "Mentor-"

Not giving him time to deny this honor, Al Mualim cut him off. "You have a dedication to the Creed not seen in many and your mind is unmatched even by some of our own scholars. You still have the use of your sword arm, your quill hand. You will be our Master Cartographer and the Dai in residence in the Bureau in Jerusalem."

"Jerusalem?" Malik's throat constricted for a second time. He had little desire to return to that place, where he had lost so much, where the body of his brother still- _no_. Malik forced the image from his mind.

Al Mualim nodded. "You know of the passing of the Rafiq who lived there, yes? You will take up his position and serve as the contact for our Brothers there. Do you accept this responsibility?"

Malik was speechless for a long moment. He swallowed, tried to gather his thoughts. When he finally did, all he could utter was a soft response, not meeting his Mentor's piercing and almost too sympathetic gaze. "It would be an honor, Mentor."

Al Mualim stood and Malik half expected him to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, but he did not. Instead he stood regally over the surgery bed and addressed the broken man lying there. "Rest now, Dai Malik. You will travel to Jerusalem as soon as you are able." He stepped away and was halfway to the door before Malik's thoughts caught up with him.

"Wait-" Malik almost choked on the word, unsure exactly what he wanted to ask and was reluctant to hear the answer. He voiced his question regardless. If he did not ask, then his need to know would drive him mad. "What has become of Altaїr?"

He could see his Mentor's gaze harden just slightly, focused on a distant thought. "He is being reborn. He has clearly lost sight of what it is to be an Assassin and must learn our ways anew. When he wakes he will be but a Novice once again."

That thought for a moment brought humor to Malik's sorrow stricken mind, though it was short-lived. "He is not dead, then." He did not know whether that made him relieved or disappointed.

"He thinks he has died and is sleeping the sleep of death. His betrayal to both the Brotherhood and to you has been dealt with. Treat him as you will, but remember that he is still your Brother." Malik nodded at Al Mualim's words and watched as he stepped from the room and disappeared from sight beyond the doorway.

Malik made a decision then and there to make the next meeting between him and his traitorous lover as rancid and harsh as his own stricken heart could muster. Altaїr would be spared no amount of grief and guilt.

* * *

The next day Malik was released from the care of the healers under strict orders to keep a sharp eye on what was left of his arm in case infection set in again. The walk down the hill from the fortress into town was a slow one as he was still weak from losing so much blood. He knew he was drawing stares from passerby. He still wore the robes that he had returned from Jerusalem in, the left sleeve torn and still bloody with his freshly bound stub underneath. The new black robes he carried close to his chest, clinging to the fine fabric like a crutch. The white markings it bore spoke volumes of his new high rank, though he still felt unworthy to adorn them. He was crippled, broken in both body and mind. Al Mualim's decision to put him at the rank of a Dai still left him stunned. There had been no ceremony, but Malik figured that there had been an announcement given to the scholars and other members of the Brotherhood. All of this made it feel so unreal, so rushed. These thoughts flooded his mind as he walked with dragging steps through the market, past the washing fountain.

He came upon the door to his family home and without a second thought pressed his way in. If he had hesitated, he would have found himself frozen, terrified to go inside and find it painfully devoid of that cheerful youthful grin that he had come to expect.

The curtains were drawn shut, the barest of rays of light piercing through the cracks between cloth and wall, offering little light to see by. Malik made it as far as the game board before he collapsed, knees cushioned by the pillows that lay about. Malik caught his shuddering breath, his vision spinning for a moment. When he recovered he found that he sat before the game board in his usual spot. His heart was devoid of all feeling as he gazed upon the game pieces.

They were still set up in their haphazard positions, the ones on Malik's side with a strong defense and the ones opposite open to attack. He reached for one of his own pieces, not exactly sure why his fingers trembled the way they did. He slid it across the board, putting it in its new position.

Malik sat in the dark in such complete deafening silence, gaze downcast and heart numb.

He found his lips moving, his voice a quivering whisper. "It is your turn, Kadar."

He glanced up and for a moment fancied he saw a shadow of a figure before him. When his eyes focused, he saw it was only the darkened doorway to the kitchen, the hearth long cold. Malik took in a shuddering shallow breath and sat in silence for a while longer. His hand gripped the black robe at his side.

He could barely hear himself speak, his voice as soft as the rays of light shining through the dusty dark air. "I finally did it, Kadar. I beat him." He stared at the game board, at how the pieces his brother had lain out told exactly his strategy for battle. It spoke volumes of his weaknesses. If Malik had taken advantage of the vulnerability of the players, his brother would have lost all defense and fallen.

Just as Kadar had fallen to the Templar's blade.

"I beat him, but at what cost?"

* * *

End Notes: Stage of grief: Bargaining.

Sorry for the feels! Actually I'm not sorry at all. The feels won't stop for a while. Things have to get worse before they get better, yeah?

Stay tuned for next week's exciting (FEELS) installment: Chapter 27: Abode in Abhorring.


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